HIS OWN MAN

Like many a lad he was driven mad

Trying to work out just what he should be

Cos it’s no small joke, when you’re born a bloke

To decode masculinity

He ran his race as a sportsman

A challenging pathway to choose

What he hadn’t been taught, about professional sport

Is that those who are not winners lose

Some are just not cut out for a man’s man

He determined to not even try

He saw men are not born to live only by brawn

But to laugh, and to love, and to cry

He played a few hands as a ladies’ man

But could not get the rules of the game

So he cashed in his chips when he tasted the lips

Of the girl who would take on his name

He tried his luck as a salesman

That plan went quite quickly awry

It cannot turn out well when you’re trying to sell

Something no-one is wanting to buy

He’d accepted his lot as a family man

There are many worse things you can be

But his milk and his honey ran out when the money

Did likewise, and we became he

At last he found peace as a gentle man

Giving succour to those more in need

And the treasure unearthed was that a man’s real worth

Is found not in his bank, but his deeds

He passed away just the other day

With no lover on hand, and few friends

So it seems that at last he’d become his own man

Is that all that he was, in the end?