Class Act Poem by Robert Edgar Burns

When I think of the term class act,
There's no one larger than Mr. T.
From the south side of Chicago,
When the streets were awfully mean.

He works with sick children everywhere.
And he gives to others in need.
Doing it without fanfare,
Each day are many good deeds.

He gives credit to the father,
The One Who sits on the throne.
It's only in movies he's angry,
As he hasn't a selfish bone.

If kids today need a hero,
He will never turn one away.
For he's a friend to all who need one,
He treats everyone this same way.