From The Birmingham Age Herald, June 26, 1915.
He met each day serenely,
Without a trace of care;
The weather seemed to suit him,
If rainy ’twas or fair.
He ne’er was heard complaining
That fate had used him wrong;
The hills around re-echoed
The music of his song.
His ways were rough and ready,
His clothes were common, too;
But he would soon be wealthy,
As everybody knew.
And on his mighty shoulders
Life’s burdens lightly lay;
He owned a small repair shop
Upon a broad highway
Where motor cars disabled
Were mended in a trice,
And, free from competition
He charged a fancy price.
Leave a Reply