Strutting about—
our pompous ways!
Fussing over spilt milk;
disdain for the inferior;
dusting invisible specks
off of ourselves.
We're the See-Alls
and the Know-Alls.
After all,
didn’t the mob declare us
Fashion Beyond Fashion?
Icons in our own rights we are!
That’s what makes it so strange
that when the Creator arrives
we fade away—
mere Puppets On Strings,
playing our assigned roles after all…
