The Soprano Will Always Get The Man

Eponine smiles as she sinks, safe from harm
She is finally wrapped in her longed for one's arms.
And Marius, once decided and firm,
Finds that he now is divided and torn.

The sky or the sea? The day or the night?
The chocolaty rich or the strawberry bright?
The gods, they look on and they smile smugly sure
The alto? The soprano? They've been here before.

"It's sad," they lament, "but she'll just have to go.
Her rich, mellow tones are too deep and too low.
Her eyes are too dark, her dress is too tight,
And the green that she wears shows her soul is not right.

"But Cosette, sweet Cosette! When she sings it's a ray
Of sunlight that brightens the darkest of days.
Oh Marius, come! See her wind caressed curls!
Surely you do agree, she's the pick of the girls!"

And the tenor, of course, can't resist her blonde hair
And her trills give him thrills. Oh come on, that's not fair!
A man can't foresee that a voice now so bright
Will soon turn to screaching from morning till night.

Marius, soon you'll regret what you've done.
Your flower will droop when brought in from the sun.
But come, the song's written, the script must be read
And a heartbroken alto is better off dead.

So die Eponine!  This embrace is the best
that someone like you can ever expect.
It's the way of the world that no matter how thin
Her soul or her art, the soprano will win.

sar 2010