The Old Rogue

The old lot, you could be mistaken
To believe that he was a tramp;
The ragged clothes with a hole
In the pocket where the pen,
Came back and forth struck by words.

You would never see what he was thinking
And how he was feeling because he,
Wouldn't show it lest they were written
In the letters of his senses.

The bad lot, you could be fooled into
Not accepting him and trying to avoid.
You might think that he was an outcast,
But he was one of the people. He'd had,
A lot in his life to contemplate upon,

Out of which, what he wanted to share
Was the blessing in life, with you.
He never gave up in the faith of life,
He, just wanted to tell you that,
The old rogue.