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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