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


[trans.:
Jacqueline

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.

-oline]

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