YESTERYEAR

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