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Robert W Service - Pedlar
Work rating: Low

Pedlar`s coming down the street,
Housewives beat a swift retreat.
Don`t you answer to the bell;
Heedless what she has to sell.
Just discreetly go inside.
We must hang a board, I fear:
PEDLARS NOT PERMITTED HERE.

I`m trying to sell what nobody wants to buy;
They turn me away, but still I try and try.
My arms are aching and my feet are sore;
Heartsick and worn I drag from door to door.
I ring bells, meekly knock, hold out my tray,
But no one answers, so I go away.
I am so weary; oh, I want to cry,
Trying to sell what no one wants to buy.

I do not blame them. Maybe in their place
I`d slam the door shut in a pedlar`s face.
I don not know; perhaps I`d raise their hopes
By looking at their pens and envelopes,
Their pins and needles, pencils, spools of thread,
Cheap tawdry stuff, before I shake my head
And go back to my cosy kitchen nook
Without another thought or backward look.
I would not see their pain nor hear their sigh,
Trying to sell what no one wants to buy.

I know I am a nuisance. I can see
They only buy because they pity me.
They may . . . I`ve had a cottage of my own,
A husband, children - now I am alone,
Friendless in all the world. The bitter years
Have crushed me, robbed me of my dears.
All, all I`ve lost, my only wish to die,
Selling my trash that no one wants to buy.

Pedlar`s beating a retreat -
Poor old thing, her face is sweet,
her figure frail, her hair snow-white;
Dogone it! Every door`s shut tight. . . .
"Say, Ma, how much for all you`ve got?
Hell, here`s ten bucks . . . I`ll take the lot.
Go, get yourself a proper feed,
A little of the rest you need.
I`ve got a mother looks like you -
I`d hate her doing what you do. . . .
No, don`t get sloppy, can the mush,
Praying for me - all that slush;
But please don`t come again this way,
Ten bucks is all I draw a day."
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