Beneath criticism the critics might say
And yet i keep rhyming and penning away.
And here am i penning another poor rhyme
Though in any case that can’t be seen as a crime
And though you may condemn me for doing my own thing
‘Tis not of the wealthy I ever do sing.
In the Literary World a dim lesser light
But ’tis not of the wealthy that i bother to write
And ’tis not to a monarch i would choose to bow
But i am one who can be kind to a cow.
There’s something for to write about every day
We never should feel stuck for something to say
There’s songs about Nature and songs about life
And the man who will fight for the love of his wife.
It is not the war men that i do glorify
Though the applause of the so called patriots they enjoy
My songs for the have nots who dream of success
Who battle with hardship and worry and stress.