Hunk Friday: He'll Pity This Sonnet

He moves me to poetry.

Laurence Tureaud one fateful day was born:
The youngest kid of twelve, and surely blessed.
Athletic from the start; you would have sworn
He'd dazzle young and old with his success.

Mohawk inspir'd by fighting rogues abroad,
Gold chains around his neck and jew'ls abound.
In sight of such great will, Stallone was awed;
The role of Clubber Lang to T was crowned.

You are somebody - not somebody's fool.
From him we learned the way to treat our mom,
To drink our milk and always stay in school:
All that we need to get a date for prom.

To Mr. T we send our deepest love.
So strong and tough, yet gentle like a dove.