Do not follow the crowd,
stand tall and be proud,
keep your head high,
and it is okay to be shy,
but always try,
walking together through the fear,
I shead a tear,
knowing God will help us
to persevere.
When a poet dies young,
will his lyrics be put into a song.
Or will he be crucified and hung?
Will they remember his creed,
The last of a dying breed?
Maybe he will be remembered by his bad deeds.
Or leave lasting impression,
of written expression,
Then that indeed,
will be yesterday's planted seed,
a book that one day,
someone may find and read.