I, the scholar knowledge saught
I had my imagination caught
By rhymes from lives that were wrought
From poverty
And by those who never thought
Things better should be.
Each man took life as it came
Glad of days bad and good the same
Some men were wild and more were tame
None their work would shirk
Of their little schooling they had no shame
Loved their families, fellow man and kirk.
I, the poet half fluent in Erse
I try betimes in my tounge to write in verse
And often fail, in stanzas terse
That need correction
As grammatical rules to the winds I disperse
With great affection!!!
And they in their language broad
Wrote in a way all should applaud
Yet are treated today like a dog whose pawed
The eath for shitten'
For English not proper and correct, though not bawd
That they had written.
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