Past ash cans and alley cats, <br />Fetid. overflowing gutters, <br />Leprous lines of rancid flats <br />Where the frowsy linen flutters; <br />With a rattle and a jar, <br />hark! I sing a happy ditty, <br />As I speed my Master far <br />From the poison of the City. <br /> <br />Speed him to the sportive sea, <br />Watch him walloping the briny, <br />Light his pipe and brew his tea <br />In a little wood that's piny; <br />Haven him to peace of mind. <br />Drowsy dreams in pleasant places, <br />Where the woman's eyes are kind, <br />And the men have ruddy faces. <br /> <br />Just a jaloppy am I, <br />But he's always been my lover, <br />So each Sunday morn I try <br />Youthful joy to re-discover. <br />For he loves the wild and free, <br />And though he would never know it, <br />Nature thrills him with the glee <br />And the rapture of the poet. <br /> <br />He's a little invoice clerk, <br />I'm a worn and ancient flivver; <br />I have an asthmatic spark, <br />He an alcoholic liver; <br />Yet with clatter, clang and creak <br />We are lyrical for one day; <br />Then another loathly week, <br />Living for another Sunday.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jaloppy-joy/
