Saturday, September 6, 2014

The Fan

Dear weapon of grace,
In ivory and lace,
How archly you veiled our intentions.
With you, coy fan,
We captured our man
When girls were submerged in conventions.
You parried and swayed
The night that gay blade
With such daring technique hovered near you,
What was it he said
About lips that were red?
Shush, don't let my granddaughter hear you.


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