There was a man in my hometown,
whose fame never exceeded his station
He had discovered in the heart of desperate broken times
that distinct predisposition to attain glory apart from your opinion
His every day in the mundane created wonder in my heart that has lasted my life
He hid greatness and brilliance behind a thick mask of scruff and janitor's fatigues
I owe him almost everything.
His name was Clifford H. Banks.
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 11:16 PM UTC
There was a man in my hometown,
whose fame never exceeded his station
He had discovered in the heart of desperate broken times
that distinct predisposition to attain glory apart from your opinion
His every day in the mundane created wonder in my heart that has lasted my life
He hid greatness and brilliance behind a thick mask of scruff and janitor's fatigues
I owe him almost everything.
His name was Clifford H. Banks.
Poetry
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