My Hero

 
A gentleman, never been called so,
Who, in his own style, tried to show
The world the way it has to know
That individualism must stay and grow.

A philosopher of unusual tempo
Whose ideas he himself drove
To endless heights without slow
From existing standards disdainfully low.

A saunterer from the holy-lands of snow                  

Without pointing his finger or raising his brow       
At the downward speed of mankind’s flow
Remained aloof, having attained divine glow.

A gentleman, never been called so,
A philosopher of unusual tempo
A saunterer from the holy-lands of snow
My hero, Henry David Thoreau
.

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