Oh those days when melancholy,

my sweet young girls,

was a picturesque state,

a French watercolor,

especially when accompanied by a blush.

An achievement

like Mona’s smile

A prerequisite!

A necessity!

for abysmal romance...

Or even those days

of diseased melancholia,

warded off

with sharp gaiety!

frivolity!

bright parties!

and boisterous song!

performed by mustachioed young men

who sometimes failed true love

and

sweet suicide took its course... 

Troubled these days

yes the heartless

lack of poetry

of pleasant sadness

Depression!

Bi-polar!

Lost in bitter pharmaceuticals

circumventing the vision

in the light faded tapestry

wistfully, wistfully sweet...