A My Masonic Apron Poetic Interlude. Hail, Poetry.
More often than not, even when it is hot, I'll not tell lies, I wear ties.
My look's not complete unless I'm replete with silken strip down to my hip.
I really like to wear ties.
I do not sell cars or insurance, you have my assurance, nor am I a senator dour,
I'm a regular guy who likes him his tie, whether plaid, striped, print, solid or flower.
Hanukkah's coming: would you please buy me a tie?
My wife makes me ties, of varying size, in fabric that's lovely and quaint,
She'll sit there sewing, everso knowing, with a countenance close to a saint.
She also made me a snake-shaped tie-rack, too.
It's expensive, this fetish, though not quite Corvette-ish, and it seems to forever go on,
But I've learned to shop discount, not behave like a viscount, and love TJMaxx and so on.
Ties with little animals on them are my favorites.
Some people scoff and think I'm a bit off when they see that I'm always dressed to the nines,
They watch me arrive all bedecked at the neck in cloth bearing polka dots, paisleys and lines.
Yes, people make fun of my ties.
There are folks who crack jokes at my style of clothes, though I do care about those
Who say I am strange and out-of-the-range when I dress nicely from hair down to toes.
Ties are expressions of personality.
And so, in conclusion and without exclusion, I'll succinctly conclude (sans ado or forsooth),
By saying 'tis always preferred, to be formal, not normal, and that you may take as the truth.