A Minor Poet

“He was only a minor poet”

     Was all that the papers could say,

So there were but a few to pay respects due

     When they laid the poor fellow away.

“He was only a minor poet,”

     The critics agreed one and all,

So we know that his name in the Hall of Fame

     Would never be scribed on the wall.

“He was only a minor poet,”

     Is the judgment of tongue and pen,

Yet he sang his songs to the hungry throngs

     And bettered the souls of men.

“Only a minor poet,” ah me,

     But he saw and sang each day,

The wonderful things with the great bard kings,

     And did as much good as they.

March 22, 1917