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Robert W Service - Pavement Poet
Work rating: Medium

God`s truth! these be the bitter times.
In vain I sing my sheaf of rhymes,
And hold my battered hat for dimes.

And then a copper collars me,
Barking: "It`s begging that you be;
Come on, dad; you`re in custody."

And then the Beak looks down and says:
"Sheer doggerel I deem your lays:
I send you down for seven days."

So for the week I won`t disturb
The peace by singing at the curb.
I don`t mind that, but oh it`s hell
To have my verse called doggerel.
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