I wonder if the house still there is?
Yes, here the lamp is, as before;
The smiling red-cheeked “écaillère” is
Still opening oysters at the door.
Is Terrè still alive and able?
I recollect his droll grimace;
He’d come and smile before your table
And hope you liked your Bouillabaisse.
We enter—nothing’s changed or older.
“How’s Monsieur Terrè, waiter, pray?”