With an easel the weasel walks in
grinning from ear to ear
clutched in his hand, contraband
his brush and heart insincere
Commotion is quick born for colour to sketch
emotion on the face of his targeted wretch
and promptly captures her emotional smudge
the paper cringes under his crafty drudge
Was there ever such an imposter
creating cherubins from a monster?
His mind plots bull's eye on another face
to judge her appetite and forge
twirls his noose and paints for her grace
food for the lonely to gorge
There is contempt hidden in his manner
loathes the crowd for it dances,
to a tune he plays for their secular pleasures
unknown to them, he laughs at their advances
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