Fantasy’s child.
Does she exist?
We see her in adverts
But have we just missed
The exact image
Which changes each day?
Will fantasy’s child
Ever go away?
One day she is blonde
The next she is black.
Fantasy’s child always
Comes back.
Even when old
She sells us death plans.
Is fantasy’s child
A creation of mans?

Here in blue jeans
With flowing hair.
Next in outfits
We’d so like to wear.
Her fantasy man is slim
He has flair.
He’s tall dark and
So debonair.
It seems when we’re shopping
Minds are diminished
Real people invisible
Until we have finished.
For only the ads and
The looking glass rule.
Some of us love it.
It makes us feel cool,

For the moment till
Reality shows
How expensive and fragile
Are these new clothes.
For they wear out
Or spoil with a stain.
So off we go shopping
Again and again!
We all need a lift
So the ads do attract
And trees in the shopping
Mall are sadly lacked.
The bright photographs
Offer Fantasy’s child
I have just passed her
I swear that she smiled!.


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