Dandy

Upon the cobblestones of Regent Street he sways,
A dandy in his tweed and polished brogue,
With cufflinks catching London's hazy days,
His cravat a whisper of aristocratic vogue.

He sips his Earl Grey, pinky raised with grace,
While pipedream symphonies drift from a gramophone,
His laughter, light as springtime's fleeting lace,
Yet underneath, a heart that beats like stone.

He knows the art of being seen, not heard,
A catalogue of poses, poised and neat,
Yet in the mirror's glass, a word unheard:
The quiet yearning for a life more sweet.

So tip your hat, good sir, to style's deceit,
For dandy's shine oft masks a restless beat.