To Yelp, Facebook and all of our favorite pollsters.
'round our man is seen a gathered thing;
A crowd, a clump, a loud conglomeration
Of souls, for roles a dreadful clamor ring;
Who is this brave, this praise of all the nation?
A closer look reveals a re'al wrinkle;
For which we all see borne upon his pinions
How in his eye he bears seductive twinkle
How of his own are all the right opinions;
His wings (that is) they stretch across the world
A fair facade fantastical, a mansion;
His knot there bound are his own flag unfurled
In their own eyes, the best of time's expansion.
This growth is large, and poor in ev'ry humor
The wisdom of the crowds looks like a tumor!
A Post-script is here written:
Conservative excision recommended before lesion becomes malignant.