a study toward sonnet #835 by FisherKingKQJ
My dear hairstylist is one smooth talker,
So many of his friends have died of aids,
Helping out as sidekick wedding stalker,
I decked myself in burberrys and plaids.
I was caught between suitor serenades,
So put up with our lurking near the church,
With widow biddies, glad rag renegades,
Eclipsed by branches of old yew and birch.
Slow death or death had left us in a lurch,
Afraid to crash the large cash bar inside,
I watched my escort's joyful teary search
Of wizened, grizzling mother of the bride.
He wept the bride's white georgette gown,
I whisper asked him to just tone it down.
(Chorus)
o $10,000 gown
o $10,000 dress
o $10,000 kaftan
[Autocube3 - for 3d interactive movies.]