For Rebecca.
standing there, gazing,
they all thought him a god -
eighty-eight ladies lined up like the keys
of a freshly tuned baby grand;
he was tired of music
(but too gracious to show it).
seventeen weeks of sweating and smiling
and barely a moment alone with his bride...
that night, at the garden,
he crowned one a queen,
the final note in
a minuet of merchandising.
Rudolph Valentino and the Mineralava Tour
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4 comments:
That's really nice!
Thank you very much!
Love the poem and the symbolism of music. Very well done. I'm so glad I found your site!
Thanks for the compliment - I'm glad you did too! ^_^
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