Québécois on her lips,
She came well equipped
With beauty and passion
And human compassion.
Mountains they climbed,
When they thought she had time,
Wine from a carafe,
With good humour they laughed.
He surely adored his sweet Nancy.
She’d never complain,
Of the aches and the pains,
The scars and the blisters,
The death of her sister,
The sexual assault,
Mom’s death not her fault,
So intense was her love,
Inspired from above.
He cherished the gift of his Nancy.
Though she suffered such trauma,
She pooh-poohed the drama,
She never looked back,
Just poured the cognac,
And toasted amore,
For lesser or more,
Whispered anew,
“Chéri, I love you”.
He whispered right back to his Nancy.
In the hours just after,
That fucking disaster,
Into a fetus he curled,
With the loss of his world,
The years eased the pain,
Yet some ache still remains,
Though there’ll be no reset,
He’s got no regrets,
For loving so deeply his Nancy.