They fail at the very moment you’d swear
They’d know what their profession was about.
Instead of the skills they are lauded for
Their drivelling hysteria breaks out.
Or else the dim pomposity of those
For whom nothing can ever be enough,
Who expect yet another round of praise
For mouthing-off some adolescent guff.
If the mystery of this could be told
We’d be well on our way to explore
The whole character of the modern world,
Of a glamour so feckless at the core.
But until then an older wisdom speaks
In parables of how it came to pass
No overload of money, fame or looks
Can stop you from being a horse’s arse.