We love the actor on
the silver screen
And worship him who
plies his craft so well.
It matters not his
melancholy spleen,
While on himself he
tends too long to dwell.
Quite often is the
mighty man obsessed
And thrilled to see his
image in the glass,
While prancing round
and quite absurdly dressed,
Content to play the
fool or courtly ass.
But if we spent more
time on those we love
And praise them for the
little things they do.
Instead of pulling out
the boxing glove;
Content to know their
motives were but true.
Then we could live our
lives in sweet content.
No need our mortal ego
to augment.
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