(Revison of "An Ode To Us Fans")

Posted on Tuesday, 25 July 2000

If you look very close,
if you think very hard,
you'll discover what makes
our hearts turn to lard.

There's Bingley the sweet,
happy, and carefree.
Without dear Charles,
where would Darcy be?

There's Fitzwilliam the proud,
with his smoldering eyes.
We're building our shroud;
he'll be our love till he dies.

And Brandon the brave,
whom Marianne thinks is old,
is anything but a knave;
she'll soon learn he's not cold.

Edward the loyal,
is a gentleman, 'tis true.
He's anything but vile,
without him, we're blue.

Alas, I forgot Wentworth!
Handsome sailor and such,
whom we've all forgiven,
for holding such a long grudge.

Then there's Henry, or Tilney,
intelligent and witty,
on whom his sister depends,
for his muslins are pretty.

Of course there's dear George,
the father figure,
on whom we've been caught,
hook, line, and sinker!

And then there is Edmund,
not thought of as much,
as our stalwart heroes,
with the golden touch.

Let's not forget their offspring,
which are sprung from our minds,
and imaginary ones,
who don't sit on their behinds.

McLindsey the manly,
Lascalles the old,
funny Ed Stanley,
and many more bold.

They're noble, courageous,
steadfast, with steed.
They are perfect men,
and are all we need.

But alas, it's not so,
these men are not real.
They are too perfect,
but it's a good deal.

For in our dreams deep at night,
we have all our fun,
but when morning makes light,
I tell you, 'they're none.'

To escape daily stress,
and incredible bore,
we create our new lives,
without all the gore.

So here's to the proud,
to the brave, to the few,
there are great stories of old,
but I look forward to new.