Most of them are gentlemen –
Kind of odd, and oddly kind.
They bow and they apologise,
Deep thoughts deep in their minds.
To you they may look strange
But there is no need to be fearful.
They are gentlemen, not ogres,
Just serious and not too cheerful.
They may be sombre and a little frail
But they will still hold open doors,
Help you up when you fall over and
Share their umbrellas when it pours.
They are good and they are fair.
They work alone and work in silence.
Their quiet industry is only broken
By the occasional act of random violence.
But they are slow-moving, calm
Sedate and quiet and zen.
They are never perfect specimens,
But most are gentlemen.