But i no longer do dream of literary renown
I left my dreams back there near old Millstreet Town.
I no longer yearn for wealth or for fame
Or that mine should be known as a literary name
And though I’m just an average poetaster of that i won’t lie
I will be penning stuff till the day that i die.
In community meetings i never take part
And some do look on me as an odd old fart
But what they think of me is their business and their business not mine
They own their own opinions and that suits me fine.
But i too have my little stories to tell
And here am i penning one more doggerel
The jingles in my brain they are always rife
I’m an addictive poetaster that is my cross in life.
I’m one of those fellows addicted to rhyme
And that in the eyes of the law not a crime
My best years behind me and old age ahead
And who will remember me when i am dead?