A Man of Worth
Dear Uncle Fred's the type of man
Who to his neighbours gives a hand.
A man who would not deal in lies,
Who never could a soul despise.
An honest man and one so kind
That he should be the first in line
To proudly pass through portal's great,
When trumpets blow at Peter's Gate.
When God decides that Fred should die,
Then, in the parlour where he lies,
His friends will flock to bid farewell
To one who lived his life so well.
But when it's time for me to go,
And in a wooden box I'm stowed,
The visitors will be but few
Who come to say a fond adieu.
And herein doth the moral lie,
Comparing Uncle Fred and I,
A man who I have much admired
And wished his traits I had acquired.
To judge a person's worth in life,
And if for others he caused strife,
Just count the friends that bid farewell,
And by that method you can tell.
Comments about this poem (A Man of Worth by Lone Dog )
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