Artificiality

God, save us, For It is making me nervous Our determined rejection of the natural And monstrous neglect of the cultural… Our decision to be patrolling with the falsest hair, Judging it honestly fair: With a corrupted skin bounding round, Believing this to be sound; A sight sometimes pricking like a pin, When the actor is my next of kin! Few men and fewer women Never venturing out without perfuming In decent language or indecent pidgin. At a non-wearer fuming! Artificiality is a visiting of villages Only once a year And urges for ultra-modern images Far and near; Also, Breast milk’s silly exposure to sledge hammer And devaluation in Good Grammar By lactating but reluctant mothers And she who now scantily bothers.