The grand ladies wore bustles and lace,
white gloves and hats with draping veils.
And nobody thought of the small, strained eyes,
nimble fingers that made them. Lace tells no tales.
The drawing room tables are draped in lace,
gleaming with polish to a high shine,
by servants, all creeping about the place
with averted eyes, in the mansion so fine.
Behind lace curtains high society postures.
Only the staff know what really goes on.
Twitch the bed curtains and what a surprise!
The master and maid dont have a thread on!
This started off serious but in the last stanza, Kay took over my brain and I couldn't stop her. Hee hee. Posted for Susie's prompt at Real Toads: Lace.