A man to some, a child to many
A disciple known, not shared with any
A man set apart, though wholly not whole
Whom run by not greed, dug no bigger holes
To others in need, a kind giving friend
And bolstering love, for others 'til end
A soul distracted, by trivial things
The many broken hearts, small wooden kings
The many people, waiting to be saved
And his face youthful still, just barely shaved
So unapproachable to most, unknown
Preparing for his life, his newest home
Of travels and love he daily did dream
Then dying, left not enough on the scene