Ode to a Nightingale

I dedicate this poem of mine to Michael Jackson. You wouldn't have done any better if you'd been in his beaded socks.

The Good Man

There once was a man,
Who, in his life span,
Did nothing but pure real good.

Helped others in pain,
For no personal gain,
He did all that he knew that he could.

And while he was living,
Most misused his giving,
They hurt him with blows and with leers.

But one day he died,
And then those men cried,
So his soul stayed to wipe all their tears.