The Visionary
If fortune had not granted me To suck the Muse’s teats, I think I would have liked to be A sweeper of the streets; And city gutters glad to groom, Have heft a bonny
Domestic Scene
The meal was o’er, the lamp was lit, The family sat in its glow; The Mother never ceased to knit, The Daughter never slacked to sew; The Father read his evening news, The Son
Death Of A Cockroach
I opened wide the bath-room door, And all at once switched on the light, When moving swift across the floor I saw a streak of ebon bright: Then quick, with slipper in my hand,
Land Mine
A grey gull hovered overhead, Then wisely flew away. ‘In half a jiffy you’ll be dead,’ I thought I heard it say; As there upon the railway line, Checking an urge to cough, I
Annuitant
Oh I am neither rich nor poor, No worker I dispoil; Yet I am glad to be secure From servitude and toil. For with my lifelong savings I Have bought annuity; And so unto
Funk
When your marrer bone seems ‘oller, And you’re glad you ain’t no taller, And you’re all a-shakin’ like you ‘ad the chills; When your skin creeps like a pullet’s, And you’re duckin’ all the
Just Think!
Just think! some night the stars will gleam Upon a cold, grey stone, And trace a name with silver beam, And lo! ’twill be your own. That night is speeding on to greet Your
Drifter
God gave you guts: don’t let Him down; Brace up, be worthy of His giving. The road’s a rut, the sky’s a frown; I know you’re plumb fed up with living. Fate birches you,
Rover's Rest
By parents I would not be pinned, Nor in my home abide, For I was wanton as the wind And tameless as the tide; So scornful of domestic hearth, And bordered garden path, I
Book Lover
I keep collecting books I know I’ll never, never read; My wife and daughter tell me so, And yet I never head. “Please make me,” says some wistful tome, “A wee bit of yourself.”
The Wee Shop
She risked her all, they told me, bravely sinking The pinched economies of thirty years; And there the little shop was, meek and shrinking, The sum of all her dreams and hopes and fears.
My Mate
I’ve been sittin’ starin’, starin’ at ‘is muddy pair of boots, And tryin’ to convince meself it’s ‘im. (Look out there, lad! That sniper ‘e’s a dysey when ‘e shoots; ‘E’ll be layin’ of
The Boola-Boola Maid
In the wilds of Madagascar, Dwelt a Boola-boola maid; For her hand young men would ask her, But she always was afraid. Oh that Boola-boola maid She was living in the shade Of a
Belated Conscience
To buy for school a copy-book I asked my Dad for two-pence; He gave it with a gentle look, Although he had but few pence. ‘Twas then I proved myself a crook And came
The Flower Shop
Because I have no garden and No pence to buy, Before the flower shop I stand And sigh. The beauty of the Springtide spills In glowing posies Of voilets and daffodils And roses. And