The Last of the Great Romantics
 

The Last of the Great Romantics,
Red roses in his hand,
Climbing up the balcony
Of life, to make a stand.
Not too proud to kiss her,
Or hold her soft, white hand.
He whispers that he loves her,
She's the fairest in the land.

His dignity is stunning,
Just like his silken hose,
Hat and cloak and sword is carried,
Everywhere he goes.
He fetes all of his women,
Goes down on bended knee,
(Not an easy task for him,
As he’s pushing eighty-three).

His hero’s Douglas Fairbanks,
He saw him years before,
Parading on the silver screen,
He’d be like him, he swore.
A cultivated gentleman,
A dandy and a toff,
He’s had it hard throughout his life,
As lots of people scoff.

But the ladies simply love him,
And take him as he is,
A soppy great romantic,
Ever searching for a kiss.
And when he has departed,
To go to Heaven above,
The ladies, they will weep for him,
For he is really loved.