Who is that dashing young man in the mirror
winking and shooting that classy thumbs-up?
Who is that hovering nearer and nearer
to utter perfection, up, up and up?
Who’s a gentleman in the most literal sense:
Gentle, in other words, yet bona fide man?
Who, in romance, spares no expense,
everything going according to plan?
Who’s got a brain the size of a melon,
the flexing of neurons rocking a mountain?
Who’s more inventive than the craftiest felon,
brilliance erupting like a heavenly fountain?
Who, before himself, thinks of creation,
“The last shall be first” taken to infinity?
Who’s rocketing ever toward self-actualization
And on to enlightenment, maybe divinity?
Who’s still rather humble despite the above,
despite beauty of body, soul, and mind?
Who’s merely a servant of hope and love
sowing his gifts as boons to mankind?
Who’s - is that a zit?
- ahem -
Who’s not ashamed to look this crummy
’cause he gave the poor his zit cream money?
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