My Max, a very special friend;

among so many we have known.

Who radiates a vibrant joy

that adds more colour to our home.

 

She is a fragrant Fleur-de -Lis

and all her Gallic ancestry,

wells up in kindness and in love,

to spill like Champagne from her eyes.

 

How can, we in the West be blind

to all the goodness in these folk.

Who came to plant the flag of France

and stayed to be a nation fine.

 

My Max can never be my own.

Like a wild bird her time will come –

to fly away to other parts.

Leaving her mark of beauty there.

 

But she leaves me a song of joy

that I will sing across this land.

Helping us from East and West

to know that we together stand.

 
 

David Garlick Victoria, April, 1986