The Batchelor

A blue-eyed boy
Of brooding stare
Sells daydreams of
Devil-may-care

He need not speak
It’s in his air
All others pale
To see him there

An unfamiliar
Tempting treat
His louche appeal
Seems twice as sweet

Than does our more
Suburban fare
‘Tis solid, stodgy
We compare

This fantasy
To what’s at home
And straightway chart
Our course to roam

Thus leaving scruples
Far behind
Beg an adventure
Of the mind

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