The Hospital Beauty Quest has ended, and tomorrow the judges begin their difficult task of choosing the most beautiful of many beautiful women.
I would not be a beauty judge, ah, no, Tho' heaven knows I'm competent enough, But, as hair thing or else begins to grow Grizzled, we elders rather dodge that stuff. Beauty, indeed, we fain would still behold, But, not to be outspoken. We're too old. Too old and wise. Hot-blooded Paris found That honest candor often leads to strife, Although his judgment might have been quite sound, Had not that idiot a pocket knife To cut the golden apple into thirds, And murmur, "Girls, I'm too overcome for words?" Oh, the strange folly of outspoken youth, Heedless to pitfalls, at the heart's bequest, Choosing the one, and calling, thro' the truth, Upon his head the vengeance of the rest. Is it not wiser to forego all that? Or do I grow too much the diplomat?
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2007|