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,
Without embellishments or worldly acclaim,
Yet a man he was,
A man all the same.
