Where are the men
Who wore tuxes and ties.
So impeccably groomed,
It brings tears to your eyes.
Some were fastidious
In their deportment and dress,
With smoking jackets and ascots,
Their evenings were blessed.
The balance of power
Began to shift
When the lost boys went to Never-land
And set Captain Hook adrift.
Who put the finishing touches
On their highlighted curls?
You’d best look away
Since their flags are unfurled.
Do they know that ‘classic’ equals elegance,
And style doesn’t fade?
Til Tom Ford comes to Walmart, There’s no call for brocade.
When our tresses fall prey
To frost and wintry rage,
Memory’s sun will never set
On Hollywood’s Golden Age.
By Barbara Shields
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