The name is merely the guest of reality
who wears out his welcome with annoying
panache, always having to pretend he’s the host.
“Does a thing seem so to me? I say it is so.”
He’s got this stupid sort of eloquence.
He’s tall and brawny, and no one wants to argue.
The dog likes him, boys emulate him, women swoon.
He befriends the kitchen, woos the lady,
dismisses the recalcitrant majordomo,
has the roof fixed, the master’s chair reupholstered,
seats himself before the fire with his pipe.
But if all goes wrong, he’s likely to up and leave.
How nice it would be to catch him unawares and
present him with his old invitation.
If you could only find where he’s folded it up!
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