The poem
My Muse is simple,--yet it's nice To think you don't need to think twice On words I write. I reckon I've a common touch And if you say I cuss too much I answer: 'Quite!'
I envy not the poet's lot; He has something I haven't got, Alas, I know. But I have something maybe he Would envy just a mite in me,-- I'm rather low.
For I am cast of common clay, And from a ditch I fought my way, And that is why The while the poet scans the skies, My gaze is grimly gutterwise, Earthy am I.
And yet I have a gift, perhaps Denied to proud poetic chaps Who scoff at me; I know the hearts of humble folk; I too have bowed beneath the yoke: So let my verse for them evoke Your sympathy.