Here's an old poem my father used to recite. I have no idea where it came from. But I still remember it. It's funny the little things from the past that stick with us:

Oh some may long for the soothing touch of lavender, cream and mauve,

But the ties I wear must possess the glare of a red-hot kitchen stove.

The books I read and the life I lead are sensible, sane and mild,

I like top hats and I don't wear spats. But I want my neckties wild.

Give me a wild tie brother, a tie with a cosmic urge,

A tie that will tear and rip and swear when it sees my old blue surge.