Curse Those Sour Grapes

Poor souls, they reach for gilded grapes,

Their noses twitch at promised scents.

Mocked and scorned by foolish apes,

Their flagging courage quick escapes.

Alas, their outer shell prevents,

Their hands from touching grand events.

Curse those sour grapes.

We scoff their less-than-splendid shapes,

Such slow, and fat, and useless lumps.

Whilst our attractiveness we traipse,

Our heartless banter tears and rapes

Their little heart that barely pumps.

And all we do is mock those “frumps.”

Curse those sour grapes.

And when to our naïve surprise,

One useless frump unfolds her wings,

We stare.  Her colors mesmerize.

She shames us, throws off her disguise,

Rejects belated offerings.

“One day you’ll learn to see,” she sings.

Curse

         those sour

                         grapes.