“A masterpiece by Jove!” Well, so, said he.
His tour de force, unique, and he as much.
And who were we, to dare to disagree,
Though no one ever knew of it, as such.
It suited him, the fame, and all of that,
And he enriched the club’s esprit de corps.
A portraitist, assigned, he thusly sat;
Bestowed on him the title of a, ‘Sir’.
His masterpiece was hailed to great applause,
While far and near, we searched, ’twas never found.
In private hands? Who knows, one could suppose;
A cult perhaps, who kept it underground?
When passed away, he sallied forth with wit,
“A masterpiece!” He laughed, and that was it.