That Tom was poor was sure a pity, <br /> Such guts for learning had the lad; <br />He took to Greek like babe to titty, <br /> And he was mathematic mad. <br />I loved to prime him up with knowledge, <br /> A brighter lad I never knew; <br />I dreamed that he would go to college <br /> And there be honoured too. <br /> <br />But no! His Dad said, "Son, I need you <br /> To keep the kettle on the boil; <br />No longer can I clothe and feed you, <br /> Buy study books and midnight oil. <br />I carry on as best I'm able, <br /> A humble tailor, as you know; <br />And you must squat cross-legged a table <br /> And learn to snip and sew." <br /> <br />And that is what poor Tom is doing. <br /> He bravely makes the best of it; <br />But as he "fits" you he is knowing <br /> That he himself is a misfit; <br />And thinks as he fulfils his calling, <br /> With patient heart yet deep distaste, <br />Like clippings from his shears down-falling, <br /> --He, too, is Waste.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tom/
