Oh, once upon a time there was a disciplined young lad
who didn't have the things that all the other children had.
So they would joke and laugh at him. They really were quite bad.
Now they would taunt and tease and shove, or trip him in the hall.
The boys would always choose him last when they had played kickball
and what they really thought of him was way below them all.
Oh, how he'd try to please them though. He'd try and try and try.
Their cruelty had followed him but he did not know why.
So many times he'd find a quiet, private place to cry.
Appreciated, he was not - nor would they, him, acknowledge.
With parents poor, he went to work and gained a little knowledge.
For over forty years he worked. He never went to college.
And then he lost his whole life's work with cozened lawyers' pens.
And then he lost his business too, his family and his friends.
And then he lost his home and health and couldn't make amends.
Although life was depressing and- nobody seemed to care,
he prayed and prayed and prayed some more escaping this despair.
And then he did some writing- just a poem here and there.
He writes to help the "least of these" and sometimes just for fun.
He'll write and write and write some more until God says he's done.
And that, my friends, is why he writes. He even wrote this one.
©2014 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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