Pasquinade

Sweet is equally sweet to all mortal tongues, Choice morsels sate all men's starved pangs; Brilliant sights of plenty charm every eye right, And friends against foes for shinier spoils fight. Why then do many in want of fine things stand; Or, how come keenest mouths on gravel feed? What alters those picky looks on life's shelves That tell the greatest from the blandest breed? Sheer wishful cravings for tasty bites alone, Can't tear sumptuous meat from obtuse bone; Nor can mere oglings turn fate's mulish thread, That pins all sojourners on the hardened tread. Life's fortunate farers got loads of apt swag: Maybe just a weird tooth for plaintive rhyme, Or a bankrupt itching to benefit others' souls; Artful ploys to outshine the sly guiles of dime. Prized strokes of luck eschew the clinical type, And smile on stony folks immune to their hype.