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Poem	How often do I wish I were What people call a character; A ripe and cherubic old chappie Who lives to make his fellows happy; With in his eyes a merry twinkle, And round his lips a laughing wrinkle; Who radiating hope and cheer Grows kindlier with every year. For this ideal let me strive, And keep the lad in me alive; Nor argument nor anger know, But my own way serenly go; The woes of men to understand, Yet walk with humour hand in hand; To love each day and wonder why Folks are not so jocund as I. So be you simple, decent, kind, With gentle heart and quiet mind; And if to righteous anger stung, Restrain your temper and your toungue. Let thought for others be your guide, And patience triumph over pride . . . With charity for those who err, Live life so folks may say you were-- God bless your heart!--A Character.
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