The light quickly fades
And a veil of fog enshronds the street lamps
The hour dawns green
Thime for the parfait glass and ornate spoon
With care approaching reverence,
The sugar cubes beneath the water drip
The first sip:
'Ah, that's on the proverbial mark
For the right proper level of tart!'
Icy opaline green-pale
As the fog by gray
Overcast and drizzle, a bone-chilling day
Come, my Muse!
Let us retreat to the warm green mansions of La Fée Verte