Some are born to love and others for destiny

In rare cases however there is another category

He was born not to love or to rule, or to follow

A bell without a clapper he exists to ring hollow.

Hills are there to divert water, clouds to pour it down

Trees are fallen day by day for wood to build a town

Everything functions for its purpose except for he

His only function, his only role, is to merely be.

He exists for nothing, yet his presence pays the bills

Morning noon and night are a playground for his thrills

Whichever door he enters a voice carries his tune

There you are my dear! Such a sweet afternoon!

Never stopping to think, to reflect or to review

He has no need, for in every hand was something new

His role is prefect specimen, of both form and ideal

An existence such as this is reserved for the envied few.