Oh for those long-ago days, way back in
that ideal past,
When did that time escape us all &
disappear so very fast?
When ladies, in their silly vapours, would
blush & pinkly sigh,
When horse & carriage, upon cobbles, would
trundle closely by.
Those days, when damsels at dinner, said only
what they ought,
When gentlemen stayed behind, for their cigars
& excellent port,
When warm summer sounds echoed, on willow upon
the leather,
When all important conversations were only about
the weather.
Those days, when showing an ankle, was considered
really naughty,
Yet the rosy cleavage was gaily flaunted, by
all the lowly & haughty,
When cream teas, set on silver, were served
upon manicured lawns,
And summer time balls were danced, well past
rosy kissed dawns.
Oh days, when hats were doffed & gloved
fingers were duly kissed,
With compliments proffered, over sherry &
rather dull played whist,
Those days of curvaceous young women, powdered,
pale & so wan,
Oh please tell me, where are those days of “Manners
maketh man?”
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