There he goes, in old timey strut,
where dullards call him “society slut”,
as the many who all look alike,
in judgement make a stale spike,
believing the numbers can make a ban,
of the unique wonder called hat-man!
Both with impact, and practicality,
he dons milliner’s variety,
street urchins; so brash; say “he’s so weird!”
For nesting a blue tit, in his beard,
but he so proud, brushes off their scan,
to remain the defiant, one hat-man!
Indoors, and at any graveside,
he continues to wear, his cap with pride,
then the flock flares up, his “disrespect”,
ignoring his tears, that do reflect,
to tell a crowd’s habits, to kick the can,
thus, let him be, a true hat-man!
Surrounded by them, he needs his space,
from claustrophobic human race,
who by their deeds, spray dishonour,
perhaps fedora could be his cover,
protecting him, from a shoddy plan,
this oh so scaredy, sad hat-man!