The Best Man (A Fact)
‘Twas whispered around that a wedding was pending,
And rumour puts me as the man next the groom;
All morning I fought with a collar unbending
Then dressed like a lord I went out to my doom.
Arrayed like a king in a mantle of glory,
I joined with a throng that was happy and gay,
And for once the old clothes that were moss-grown and hoary
To which I still clung, in a lumber room lay.
I fretted and fumed in the stiffest of collars,
In agonies name I swore hard at those shoes
And solemnly vowed that for millions of dollars
The name of ‘Best Man’ ne’er again would I use.
I crept into church in a frenzy of terror,
I gave up the ring with a trembling hand
I was fearful of making the tiniest error
For a little mistake would spread far o’er the land
At last the dread act was done with and over,
And off to the cafe our motor-cars sped;
A right bust up was laid – I thought I was in clover
But shyness prevailing I ate nothing instead.
An evening of fun and music and dancing –
But the ‘Best Man’ lay hid in an out of way place
And dreamed of his bike and the byways entrancing
While the dancing and frolics grew faster apace.
I was dressed like a tramp in clothes moss-grown and hoary,
And pedalled along at the back of the day
And yesterday’s fear, with that mantle of glory,
Unwanted and lost, in a lumber room lay.