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Robert W Service - Facility
Work rating: Medium

So easy `tis to make a rhyme,
That did the world but know it,
Your coachman might Parnassus climb,
Your butler be a poet.

Then, oh, how charming it would be
If, when in haste hysteric
You called the page, you learned that he
Was grappling with a lyric.

Or else what rapture it would yield,
When cook sent up the salad,
To find within its depths concealed
A touching little ballad.

Or if for tea and toast you yearned,
What joy to find upon it
The chambermaid had coyly laid
A palpitating sonnet.

Your baker could the fashion set;
Your butcher might respond well;
With every tart a triolet,
With every chop a rondel.

Your tailor`s bill . . . well, I`ll be blowed!
Dear chap! I never knowed him . . .
He`s gone and written me an ode,
Instead of what I owed him.

So easy `tis to rhyme . . . yet stay!
Oh, terrible misgiving!
Please do not give the game away . . .
I`ve got to make my living.
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