Roger's demeanour would radiate grace.
He never left home without wearing his face,
A smile to enhance his benevolent eyes.
They frequently widened in pleasant surprise.

Flourishing peace would elicit his praise,
When placid life forces replaced hostile ways.
His heart was a vessel that feelings would fill.
His beautiful soul overflowed with goodwill.

When seeing humanity bloom he felt humbled.
He strived to be selfless and help those who'd stumbled
On life's crumbling pathways where potholes and pitfalls
Are threats when pet pit bulls chase prey till they hit walls.

He catered to waiters' desire for derision.
They'd line up like horses on course for collision.
When he became hoarse his invective would cease.
His words were effective as forces of peace.

Men liberated by Roger's berating
Would soon be absorbed in the labour of waiting,
Freed from the need to be called useless planks,
Armed with slow brains that are loaded with blanks,

Or worms that find riches on old rotten peaches,
Boasting a beauty beneath newts and leeches,
Or night-craving creatures whose white waiter guises
Hide wordless grim sources of unpleasant noises,

Or worthless new warts on the world's Roman nose,
Or things made of dirt that's contained within clothes,
Beneath a balloon head enclosing dead leaves,
With grasping weeds growing from trousers and sleeves,

Created by prank-loving parents to rival
The devil's foul creatures in fights for survival
In niches so lowly that tramps pushing trolleys
Ignore these unholy, deplorable follies,

The wretches well-used to receiving no heed,
Despised by the cretins and gluttons they feed,
As welcome as spots, lots of nits, knots in laces,
Paths of black cats or dark plights in bleak places.

The waiters would thank him for being so kind,
And sharing the fruits of his generous mind.
With vigour renewed and their needs satisfied,
They'd bring people food with a feeling of pride.

But some lacked the intellect needed to follow
His sentences' journeys through each hill and hollow.
For those with bad wiring in brains built for blinking
His words laid down tracks for the trains of their thinking,

A line well-constructed to frustrate distractions
That led to de-railings when passing attractions.
He kept them from scenes like the sight of a female,
Explaining in plain-spoken, painstaking detail

The ways to deploy their depleted brain power
To make sure to take off their shoes in the shower,
And shy from the views of the people suggesting
A trip down a steep hill on skates is the best thing

To do on a Saturday after surviving
Adventures in pastimes like blindfolded driving,
Or rudely depriving a toddler of sweets,
A pram-bound young time bomb protecting its treats,

Primed to explode when a crime is in progress,
Displaying great promise when tears start to flow less,
Producing surprising, profuse words of prose,
Instructions for soldiers who buy them their clothes,

Orders to deal with intruders soon filled with
A dread of the mothers outstandingly skilled with
Umbrellas they've killed with or handbags like slingshots,
Cool and cold-hearted when they're called to fling pots.

The waiters would always be thrilled with their gains.
His words never failed at re-tuning their brains,
A practical aid in retaining their grip.
This gift would be given instead of a tip.

At one local restaurant Roger was greeted
By waiters whose pleading expressions entreated
His boundless compassion compressed into slights,
A gift that would lift them to glorious heights.

His regular visits revived ebbing vigour,
Launching their spirits by pulling a trigger,
Sending them soaring to new understanding,
Slowly descending and tenderly landing.

Once when he'd finished fulfilling their needs,
They wanted to thank him for all his good deeds.
A marvellous journey was part of their plan.
They bundled him into the back of a van.

They stopped at a place with its own special style,
Where rubbish and junk had been dumped in a pile,
To which he was added, from where he could savour
The bountiful boons of their beautiful favour.

The waiters retreated to leave him alone.
Roger felt blessed by the kindness they'd shown.
Items of junk would engender great joy.
He'd treasure old pots or an unwanted toy.