In these literary times of modern verse I'm seen as an old timer
And literary critics would see me as an old fashioned rhymer
A man immersed in doggerel and not worth criticizing
For they see rhyme as with the dead and their views not too surprising.
It doesn't bother me at all if I'm not celebrated
And I feel happy with the thought that my verse is not even rated
And that I'm not looked on as a poet has not made me feel bitter
For I don't think I could cope with fame and it's trappings of glitter.
I'm just one of the common flock and though I don't beg or borrow
I'm one of those who only hope for better things tomorrow
Like a big win in lotto or the races though I seldom back a winner
Of hunger I won't ever die for there's heaps of food for dinner.
An old fashioned rhymer I will be until the reaper take me
Though I hope my lust for penning rhyme it never will forsake me
And I don't mind if I am seen as an old fashioned rhymer
A man with a passion for rhyme an out of date old timer.
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