“Fox Hunt”

In a hall where the chandeliers danced,
Gathered young hearts, in anticipation entranced.
A fraternity's rite, in tradition steeped,
Where promises are made, though seldom kept.

Each brother, a fox in this elegant hunt,
With a trio of roses, their charm upfront.
One to be cherished, a 'wife' so named,
In this fanciful game, so boldly framed.

Two more, like shadows, in the waltz partake,
'Mistresses' in this masquerade's wake.
A dance of pretense, in a moonlit room,
Where laughter echoes, yet hints at gloom.

Underneath the glamour, the glinting lights,
Lies a tale of desires, of fanciful nights.
But in this hunt, where the heart might roam,
Truth often lost in the festivity's dome.

For in the end, when the music fades,
And the masks drop from these quaint charades,
The foxes ponder, in the silent hours,
The weight of a dance, in ivory towers.

A reflection on love, in its myriad forms,
In a world where affection is often a storm.
Yet, in the heart of the 'Fox Hunt' dance,
Lies a deeper quest, for a true romance.