Ma petit surprise préferée.

I basked underneath dusk's harp that evening, A mellow moment of lull deterred by a familiar tune. Entranced by the melodic cadence of your voice, quietly harkening, My lips failed me not, for you'd hear my heart race too soon. Excited inflections of your tone akin to baby sparrows galloping, If only my woeful words could justice the joy you bring. Completely mesmerized by that nostalgic je ne sais quoi, You painted a pictures inside my eyelids, a memoir to Renoir.