Glittering Ambition

The Hapsburgs never had it so good!
That’s what they kept telling themselves,
But deep down the Forsburgs knew
That the Hapsburgs had it quite a bit better.

What with their castles and whimsy
And live stagings of Fosse’s All That Jazz,
Flouncing about in finery,
Eating upwards of three pigeons a fortnight.

While the Hapsburgs canoodled
Their gay nights away
The Forsburgs would settle for noodles
And survive on two pigeons a fortnight.

At garden parties and society mixers
Thrown by various ranking officials
The Forsburgs and Hapsburgs elbowed for room
Among the graspers and glad-handing masses.

Which would sit closest to Sir Francis?
Whose were the biggest brooches?
Where did they get those hors d’oeuvres?
No, not those. The ones with the mushrooms…

In the end both houses came to fiery ruin
At the hands of a high-society arsonist
Who’d never forgiven any of them
For eating every last one of his pigeons.