Remembering the delightful role of Eliza on stage some time ago.
His Fair Lady.
The words,
seeming a jumble of shapes to her,
were invitations
to the County Ball,
so straightening her skirt
and patting her hair
she knocked at the door that led from the hall.
He looked up
from his book as she walked through,
deciding his maid
would have to do, began
then long days
of speech training, to prove
transformation he could obtain,
and as planned
she would enter the Ball on his arm, beautified
with well rehearsed walk,
easy converse
as fair
as any high-bred lady, so he tried
to prepare her
by insisting she wear pretty clothes.
Deportment taught,
he invited
his aunt to meet this creature, who now spoke
quietly correct, gently sipped tea,
but blighted
her chances when asked
how she fared, joking,
replied she felt "Bleedin' tired".
Catching his eye
then tried the remark
that "Rain had fallen in Spain.
Aunt looked aghast
though at "not bloody likely"
when Eliza was told to repeat that again.
He decided more lessons would be wiser.
Fair ladies could not look better than she.
But under those clothes she was still Eliza.
And looks will be only the half, thought he.
Awesome poem, well descriptive portrait and an interesting ending.
lovely fay
Great writing here, Fay. What an interesting (creative!) life you seem to be living.
i like the way you brought out the real her from under all that coiffured pretence. there have been times when i have wanted to shock the genteel lot. but chickened out at the last minute. hehe.
Apologies for such a large Fair Lady but can't seem to make her smaller.
What a stunning lady His Fair Lady is in the wonderful picture you have provided. You have so creatively captured her essence, especially in the last stanza Fay. It brought back memories of the movie to me...