I am that Man

I am that soldier in the battlefield

On his feet, strong and not willing to yield

On one arm bearing the weight of a wounded comrade

On the other wielding a sword on the charging brigade

I am that humble village priest

Who visits piss poor folks and makes a feast

Leaves behind happy souls and baskets bulging with plenty

His kind smile itself paradise entry

I am that husband pacing at the midwife’s door

Back and forth, no cry yet pacing the more

It’s a bouncing baby boy; he beholds him in his arms

Thank God I couldn’t resist your mama’s charms

I am that Pawnee host in the cold winter night

In the cold dark forest the vagabond’s only light

Gives him soup, warmth and a bed to lay his back

I am that young passionate lover

I kiss her, adore her, embrace her, and love her

Throwing pebbles at her window, embrace my voice

Sweet serenade, the nightingales is noise

I am that poetic dreamer at his own whims

Don’t pity or mock me if you don’t believe in my dreams

With my pen and paper I travel the ends of the earth

Walking the road not taken, the untrodden path

I see myself in others

I see all men as my brothers

Black, white, rich, poor all men

I see the good in them

I am that soldier

I am that priest

I am that husband

I am that lover

I am that poet



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