There was a young man whose face was happy but his heart was sad,
A well meaning, but clueless young lad.
A life without someone to call a friend,
All around him, it was all a dead end.
One day he had a bright idea, to join the Craft,
His Mother looked at him and "said don't be daft!"
But the young man was keen to do this well,
any doubts? Well, they can go to hell.
And so he filled in his form, and sent it away
watching the mailbox, each and every day,
until one he got that magical phone call,
the lad was happy, and he stood 6 feet tall.
He was terribly excited, him a Mason true,
one of the boys, with a ring of electric blue.
His apron was white and his smile wide,
happy he was, with friends at his side.
The friendship was good,
and so was the food,
plenty to drink?
No need to think.
His woes melted away never to be seen,
this was the greatest, he had ever been.
Tyler, Master, Wardens all,
how they all scarpered, at his beck and call.
He knew he would grow old, and his time would eventually end,
but what did it matter? For he had friends.
As he approached the tall white throne and knelt before his God,
he knew he would be forgiven, classed as even, than odd.
And on his tombstone these words will lie:
"Here lies a true Mason, until the day I die."
So my dear reader, dear old friend,
to this pithy poem, you have reached the end.
But do not shed a tear for this young man,
for happiness was his, and he did all that he can.
My life in rhyme.
My life in rhyme.
To the wicked, I am merely too knowledgeable in their ways.
