Derrick

He does not talk much, always alone.
He's timid and shy, scared with people.
He is not anti-social but a little bit weirdo
For he does not like tattles for an idle talk.

He looks like freak with his tousled hair,
Seeing a wacko when he ogles to the air
But he is real nice, a tyranny to oppressors
Knows how to fight in tact and in words.

He speaks in precise size, verses at rhyme
Like a poet of Romanticism, emotions at lime.
He always wears mask, hiding from the crowd
Because his illness is to help, it is his vow.

Behind his cold facade who seems no concern,
And his demeanour which seems to freeze in naught,
He springs his hand to hoist you in a turn
Without complains or regressions, he never sought.

He's a modern hero without a cape of strength,
He trips more than a lot and yet he's resilient enough
To feed his principle, to give, to love, to help
Without pretense, he's fragile yet he's tough.

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