Friday, August 17, 2007

The Besuited Man

My suit is my armour
Can't you see?
The cloth turns aside arrows.
The pinstripes protect me.

Let others their worn denim or corduroy prescribe
I am happy when in a suit I am spied

Something that fits- and fits me best
I am not happy in a string vest

Clothing you can wear anywhere
For which few doors are barred
A besuited man is a suitable man at large

Maybe as all formality is dead
Maybe fashion says I should look like,
I just stepped out of bed

But as people judge by looks,
then look and see
As the besuited man,
the smart man,
the well dressed man.

Is visibly me

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