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.
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