So I'm offering this gem from Les Séguin, Richard Séguin and his twin sister Marie-Claire, singing, in 1975, a song written in 1966 by Gilles Vigneault, who, at age 96, is still on the planet.
La lune était ronde, le hibou, muet
En haute montagne je l'y ai laissée
À la nuit tombante j′irai la trouver
Ma mie a les pieds comme biche vive
Sa peau est plus blanche qu'aubier de sapin
Si je l'emmenais courir par la plaine
Comme biche vive s′en irait bien loin
La maison que j′ai n'a pas de toiture
De porte non plus, de fenêtre point
J′entre par le haut comme en cheminée
Rentre la fumée quand le temps est doux
À qui j'ai loué, c′est à la chouette
Qui radote un peu mais qui veille à tout
Ma mie est logée, ma mie est à l'aise
Demandez au lièvre, demandez au loup
Ma mie a fleuri dedans une souche
Coupée en hiver, vidée au printemps
Une fois saison la lune s′y couche
Ce qui donne à l'oeil couleur du beau temps
(I found my love high up in the mountains,
The moon was round, the owl was silent.
In the high mountains I left her,
At nightfall, I will go find her again.
My love has feet like a lively deer,
Her skin is whiter than pine sap
If I took her running through the city,
Like a lively deer she would go far.
The house that I own has no roof,
It has no door either, no window;
I come in from the top, as one would a chimney
The smoke enters when the weather is mild
I rented it out to the owl,
Who rambles a little but watches over all;
My love has a house, my love is at ease:
Ask the hare, ask the wolf.
My love has blossomed inside of a stump
Cut during winter, emptied during spring
Once in season, the moon lies down,
Which shows the eye the colour of good weather.)
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