Velvet shrouds my chest,
or silver binds my neck
Either servant like the rest,
Or one who holds them at his beck,
Either a King at his best,
Or he who shines his deck.
I admire the feel of velvet cloth,
The esteem of shining silver,
The markers of a life eased in sloth,
Or one fought for on a sliver.
A life survived on measly broth,
Or foods only chefs can deliver,
Either one will tell you,
Which one binds them tightest,
On the silver will they sell you,
But it bears on them the lightest,
King or servant will do,
Struggling with the slightest.
The only weight worse than the gavel,
Is that of the satin,
For news of it will travel,
Even to the heights of Manhattan,
For the silver will not bevel,
Nor will it read you the Latin,
the velvet will force you to level,
With the weights you’ve tried to flatten.