http://youtu.be/xGQBMXAsV-Q

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

Response: I think the theme of this poem is that even the best people, the people we look up to and see as having perfect lives, have problems. The speaker of this poem looked up to Richard and is probably surprised that he shot himself. This narrative poem is describing how people tend to hide what they are going through, but no one’s life is perfect.