The Faux Pas

The Faux Pas

 (Pentameter)

The frivolity of youth is its charm;

Slowly fades away with the aging soul;

A fancy dress party raised the alarm;

The harried Prince, some way, has lost control.

Skeletons in the closet do have sway;

Secrets are tied to the bones in the chest;

In graveyards they no longer want to stay,

But invade young minds that want to impress.

Constant in battle are young rolling stones;

The ancestral flaws they like to expose;

Hypocrisy lies in these bags of bones,

So let’s throw a party and wear their clothes.

The stage was set for the ball of the year;

Tom, Dick and Harry wore mask in the crowd;

Common guys were not supposed to be there;

And their ragbag clothes made a Nazi cloud.

The commoners’ streets are not paved with gold;

So the hair comes down in any spotlight.

Top of the line, comes from a different mould,

So a faux pas is very impolite.

 In the lens, paparazzi shoot the Crown;

No vetted shots, from them, for royal folks,

Who throughout the country they bring renown;

This mystic feeling, royalty evokes.

Mistakes are made so old folks reprimand,

But with every error something is learnt.
History as a core, not taught in England!
So youth do not know what folks Hitler burnt.

How well one seeks to correct every wrong,
Indicates the true measure of the man;
So you eat humble pie, to make you strong,
And reflect on the way it all began.

© Paterika Hengreaves

(Summer 2005/New Zealand)

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