To rest my fagged brain now and then, <br />When wearied of my proper labors, <br />I lay aside my lagging pen <br />And get to thinking on my neighbors; <br />For, oh, around my garret den <br />There's woe and poverty a-plenty, <br />And life's so interesting when <br />A lad is only two-and-twenty. <br /> <br />Now, there's that artist gaunt and wan, <br />A little card his door adorning; <br />It reads: "Je ne suis pour personne", <br />A very frank and fitting warning. <br />I fear he's in a sorry plight; <br />He starves, I think, too proud to borrow, <br />I hear him moaning every night: <br />Maybe they'll find him dead to-morrow.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-neighbors/
