The Dilettante
Oh the thrill of being aloof,
untouchable by the mundane
The Dilettante loves this place
The throngs of people to wander through
Sampling strengths and weaknesses
Always looking to bring down the haughty
But to build a desire in the weak
to have that power over their passions
to create that allure at will
That is his calling.
Many a supple soul
has fallen into his eyes
Those lips that speak so softly
Whispering things the heart longs to hear
He knows that he is missing something
The puzzle of his heart incomplete
The pieces not quite fitting
He continues his quest
through the crowds in the square
Until he finally finds whispering eyes
and falls into them.
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