5/13/11

The dropper loves to mention names,

Of those he knows, who might impress.

His friends are fabulous and famed,

Yet his own worth, we're left to guess.

For names are just a cloak he wears,

To hide his simple, common skin.

A garment, threadbare, showing tares,

Betraying nakedness within.

Without it, he is left alone,

And must be seen for who he is,

To stand on merits of his own.

And not his great acquaintance’s.