A Petit Bourgeois

Sharp nails grow out from your fat fingers;

Over your clean-shaven lip glimmers the moustache of a

tom-cat.

Your smiles are investments at a hundred per-cent.

Yet one has only one life, one mouth, one stomach, and can

take only one woman at a time;

Also, when you were younger, before you knew,

You foolishly allowed suffering to' reach your heart.

So your face sometimes contorts wistfully-

You use this sanctimoniously to deceive.