06 December 2010

0 o young oline, a poem.

(bearing in mind that i make sport of my own youthful folly on a weekly basis at a minimum,
it is important to point out that this is, hands down, the most embarrassing thing ever to appear here.)

circa winter 1995


She represented the American woman at her best, 
We didn't care about the rest. 
Born to New York socialites
Within thirty years she was a celebrity in her own right.

When she died in May
she did it in her own elegant way.
We knew we had lost a treasure.

She witnessed the grimmest side of America
and led a nation of mourners stoticaly.
She was the meaning of widowhood
and represented only what was good. 

The she left us for a rich man
losing many a fan.
When he died
She wasn't at his side.

Eventually we forgave her
and when she came back home she caused quite a stir.
She raised her children as best she could
and as she thought she should.

With her passing we realized an era was ending
and a new one beginning.
She was a symbol of her times.    ]
She was the last of the grand ladies of her time.


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