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Poem

The Mastermind isn't keen or shy.
Though some have deemed him pretty sly,
His life just keeps on passing by
And in the end, he’s a normal guy.

He speaks good French but he's not from France.
He lives in a dream, dwells in a trance.
His life never quite seems too advanced
But he thinks it’s a fine song and dance.

He gets a lot of his elation
From instant-messaging conversation
He also puts to application
His years of gathered information.

He doesn't go out very often,
Or refer to himself in the third person,
He did this time though, to get a grin
And he wants to learn the violin.

The important part is yet to come,
He chews his nails instead of gum
He sings a tune and hums a hum,
While calculating his life's sum.

The Mastermind is sharp and slick.
He counts the seconds as they tick
Things tend to click in his mind pretty quick,
And he carries the Devil's walking stick.

Like everyone else he dreams of fame,
And like some out there he plays The Game.
People tend to mispronounce his name:
He pretends to care and thinks its lame.

He's not very sexy or defined,
But considers himself a rare find.
If you meet him he'll be very kind,
That's who he is... The Mastermind.

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