Many a time your father gave me aid
When I was down, and now I'm down again:
You mustn't take it bad or be dismayed
Because I say, young folk should help old men
And 'tis their duty to do that: Amen!
I have no cows, no sheep, no cloak, no hat,
For those who used to give me things are dead
And my luck died with them: because of that
I won't pay you a farthing, but, instead,
I'll owe you till the dead rise from the dead.
A farthing! that's not much, but, all the same,
I haven't half a farthing, for that grand
Big idiot called Fortune rigged the game
And gave me nothing, while she filled the hand
Of every stingy devil in the land.
You weave, and I: you shirts: I weave instead
My careful verse, but you get paid at times!
The only rap I get is on my head:
But should it come again that men like rhymes
And pay for them, I'll pay you for your shirt.
The Weavers
James Stephens
(1)
Poem topics: father, time, head, sheep, young, rise, duty, devil, game, verse, fortune, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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