Modeste the Minor Poet

In a house not far from Clichy

On the busy Paris road

Lived a poet and his mother

Modeste and Marie Claude

Well his father'd been a pilot

With a penchant for the church

Gave up his wings for higher things

Left his family to the worst

While Modeste and his mother

Sat quietly at home

The boy would chew his ball point

As his mind began to roam

And into his mind came an image

Of the lovely soaring bird

With the cliffs of France beneath it

In the lovely poems word

Well the bird it was his father

And the cliffs were him at home

And his mother was the springtide

Beneath the lazy foam

Modeste the Minor Poet

With all the time it took

He wrote a note of major sadness

In his mothers laundry book