We know the purest color to be white;
We know that it’s best, that all else is trite.
In reality, the cleanest is black;
For to be pure, everything one must lack.
Where white’s a mixture of all shades and hues,
There stands black without a thing he can lose.
Where white may have stood, so “devout” and plain,
There too stood black, without taints, without stain.
So take your white dress, with lace past the thigh,
I’ll take my shined shoes, my matching black tie.