Miss McIntyre
 

A vivacious young woman, a firework

At heart, who works in the city for

Haute Couture Art, she models the

Latest from Paris and Rome with a

Style unsurpassed in the catwalk salon.
 

The rich and the famous book twelve

Months ahead, along with the buyers

And magazine ed’s, the front row a

Cherished and sacred domain, gold

Chairs a small fortune, they’re happy

To pay.
 

A girl in a million, beloved by the trade,

Whatever she wears guarantees

The front page, needlework masters,

High-fashion aplomb, gain oodles

More credit if Miss Mc’ puts it on.
 

The dressing room sees her strip down

To the flesh, where designers attend her

With needles and thread, exclusive

Dressmaking takes skill and high-craft,

Each stitch time-consuming, precise

And exact.
 

Fashion art houses seek sexy couture,

But above all by whom the dress will be

Worn, mannequin, clothes horse, quaintrelle

Or such are mostly excluded for they don’t

Have the looks.
 

It all came together one night on the town,

When they spotted pure gold dust in the

Nightclub Renown, EMI, Parlophone, Decca

And Pye all waving contracts they hope that

She’ll sign.
 

The contract she signed with a lump sum

Up front, was with Haute Couture Art,

Leaving pop music stumped, her head

Full of songs, her heart drawn to style,

Her body the music of Miss McIntyre.
 

© Joseph G Dawson