Pince-nez and flowing cape
Even his British accent is fake
Your best friend to your face
all smiles applauds cheers praise
To others your name arouses from him only disdain
"A scoundrel!" he'll claim
then add, "I hardly know the miscreant,"
with accent, twirling moustache, and pince-nez
as always, always in place
His opinions are, you see
determined by his company
"The best! Bravo! Yes!" this front-runner yells from the midst of the house
But should you stumble, sick or tired, your momentum slow
He's suddenly notably silent as a mouse
You're no longer even a poet to him
though you were, once
Now he relates to his betters in snobby parlors stories of telling you off!
His baroque phraseology in complexity rises impressively to the sky!
its continual theme undertone rhythmn the one word, "I"
Two-faced-- no, four
To four levels of friends he plays four styles of role
from groveling fop to artful knife in the back
I never said he didn't have talent
Self-serving, lacking character, honesty, loyalty
This is how to spot the opportunistic phony