In that splendid way, of men and mice and

In the wonderful look of mock surprise -

Ah, another beautiful necktie, just

Exactly what a retired man such

As myself can do with. So many shirts,

So little time and so few ties to choose

To match and marry and sometimes to clash

To drive my wife to take off her glasses.

Oh, a blessed blurring of the senses,

If only my nose and ears could follow

Suit and the odors I emit and the

Rude things I say fade into submission.

Ties die, as do shirts, just not soon enough,

For when I age into nothing, and my

Image ghosts away into the mists of

Distant memories, gone the way of the

Gas car. I leave my ties to you, my sons.