Everyman

There lived a greyed, an old bald man At sixty of age in a squalid barn So rich that he could not feed his home His colleagues outshined to beat their glome He helped his men to mend their mouths But had his own reeking at shouts So rich, he could not treat his pot belly His big nose villagers have turned telly When children saw him roaming the streets They play'd his bald head tapping with beats To them he cautioned shouting "the heck!" They started laughing his needle neck One day, left he, his wooden shed With flies aloft his podgy head To eat overseas he flew away His home behind in care of hay Afterwards, came the baldie to his dome With butt like bowls in Ancient Rome He remembered he was sixty years old Gathered his home, celebration to hold This greyed himself was Everyman Of dreams and deeds in futile plan Some cared to show their loving sense But all they did was all pretence.