The Old Rhymer Bill

The clock keeps on ticking and ticking away And the poet of the past is the rhymer of today And the boy of the fifties showing his years in gray The Reaper on all lives has the final say In the local bar-room the old rhymer Bill Is reciting his verses as he drinks his fill Nowadays he does seem much further from renown Than when he was known as the laureate of the town At local poetry readings never asked to recite So few now interested on what he does write Looked up to by many but that in the past For some who are famous their fame does not last At least his drinking mates his praises do sing And he feels happy that to them his verses joy does bring.