A Man

Walking through the streets one day

In the pouring rain,

There strode a man,

With droplets running down his brow

And dripping from his mane.

A man dressed all in black, 

Very nondescript as a matter of fact,

Not handsome or ugly,

Or even interesting to look at.

He wore no scarf

Nor watch nor hat,

But a man he was,

As simple as that.

He was a man 

Neither silly nor vain,

A man with little worth in just his name

For he bore no titles and desired no fame.

He was a man of an ordinary sort,

With no tales to tell 

Or adventures to report.

A man he was, 

Though simple and plain,

With no wealth or estate he could rightfully claim;
Without embellishments or worldly acclaim,

Yet a man he was,

A man all the same.