Death of a Dandy
His beauty was so stunning and awe-inspiring
That even the woman looked upon him with eyes of green.
His curls of gold caressed a flush face with no lacking of imperfection
Particularly while he traipsed the streets in the richest facade.
The features where winsome with the slightest sign of slow decay,
And as he would promenade the population seized him through variant ways:
Some called him Vanity, others called him Pride,
While few recognized him as Desire in disguise.
One cried Narcissus, kin of that lone said Dorian Gray,
But fully his complexion the truth and desire of a knave.
However, each failed to account for the man’s own view,
Their sight was all one-way—but he forgave each one.
He did not know their troubles, toils or the like nor did he give a care,
Rather his inspiration was solitarily for his own merrymaking.
It brought him delight, in the queerest of ways, to be such a gallant in their day.
Then, once in time one went to greet the man known by no name,
But famous by face, where he lingered most, though alas! he was not there.
All one saw, was no dandy at all, but, rather, the figure of a Miss.
She clad herself in a dress of white flushed with frills and lace,
And plush, red cheeks against rays of gold that curled tightly to her face.
The seeker questioned: “Kind ma’am, perhaps you know,
The leisure place of a man dressed in fine attire.”
Mid-say of the next thought the speaker then halted,
And saw a face so wistful and void;
For the face belonged to whom the other fancied to acquire.
That even the woman looked upon him with eyes of green.
His curls of gold caressed a flush face with no lacking of imperfection
Particularly while he traipsed the streets in the richest facade.
The features where winsome with the slightest sign of slow decay,
And as he would promenade the population seized him through variant ways:
Some called him Vanity, others called him Pride,
While few recognized him as Desire in disguise.
One cried Narcissus, kin of that lone said Dorian Gray,
But fully his complexion the truth and desire of a knave.
However, each failed to account for the man’s own view,
Their sight was all one-way—but he forgave each one.
He did not know their troubles, toils or the like nor did he give a care,
Rather his inspiration was solitarily for his own merrymaking.
It brought him delight, in the queerest of ways, to be such a gallant in their day.
Then, once in time one went to greet the man known by no name,
But famous by face, where he lingered most, though alas! he was not there.
All one saw, was no dandy at all, but, rather, the figure of a Miss.
She clad herself in a dress of white flushed with frills and lace,
And plush, red cheeks against rays of gold that curled tightly to her face.
The seeker questioned: “Kind ma’am, perhaps you know,
The leisure place of a man dressed in fine attire.”
Mid-say of the next thought the speaker then halted,
And saw a face so wistful and void;
For the face belonged to whom the other fancied to acquire.