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He Who Would Be Great

He was raised a bum
Thought to be slow and dumb
Often seen around the town
In ragged clothes all soiled brown

On the day he went away
People could be heard to pray
Thanking God, he’d no longer be around
In his clothes all soiled brown

He came back a star
A hero near and far
Now he lives like a king
Lacking not a thing

I must ask this of him still
Was it fate or an act of will
Does he ever contemplate
What it is that made him great

Copyright © Kenneth Cheney