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.