They said that it was fortunate, that she died so young,
that we did not have to witness the fading of her charms.
No furtive, stolen snapshots need grace our daily 'news',
to torment us of her fading and depress our morning muse.
No hideous sagging wrinkles or age disfigured form,
scuttling back to shadowy sanctuary from the prying eyes of gorm.
No nasty, prehistoric reminders of a great beauty now long past,
the fulsome lip, the buxom dip, thankfully on celluloid will ever last.

Too bad to have to listen to her grayly reminisce
about those fabled film stars she once blithely sent amiss.
The Presidents she sang to, the celebrated dignitaries that she caught
smiling at her youthful, nubile form when they really hadn't ought.
Yes, best to end the fable with the grass still green with dew,
and I, in youthful naivete, did once think that it were true.

Good God! We might have seen her, rheumy eyed and queer,
portraying dirty, old Bag Ladies and other Character parts.
Worse still! A florid grandmother, Silver thatched and fat,
playing bingo at the local institute, or bouncing babies on her lap!
Oh, better death than risking these appalling perils of the years,
the mellowing of the perplexing beauty, the fading of the fears.
No, we need never have to wonder "What ever became of her?"
Why, she's a good six feet under and better off, my dear!


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