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Robert W Service - A Verseman`s Apology
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Alas! I am only a rhymer,
I don`t know the meaning of Art;
But I learned in my little school primer
To love Eugene Field and Bret Harte.
I hailed Hoosier Ryley with pleasure,
To John Hay I took off my hat;
These fellows were right to my measure,
And I`ve never gone higher than that.

The Classics! Well, most of them bore me,
The Moderns I don`t understand;
But I keep Burns, my kinsman before me,
And Kipling, my friend, is at hand.
They taught me my trade as I know it,
Yet though at their feet I have sat,
For God-sake don`t call me a poet,
For I`ve never been guilty of that.

A rhyme-rustler, rugged and shameless,
A Bab Balladeer on the loose;
Of saccarine sonnets I`m blameless,
My model has been - Mother Goose.
And I fancy my grave-digger griping
As he gives my last lodging a pat:
"This guy wrote McGrew;
`Twas the best he could do" . . .
So I`ll go to my maker with that.
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