The Joy of Being Poor

Let others sing of gold and gear, the joy of being rich;

But oh, the days when I was poor, a vagrant in a ditch!

When every dawn was like a gem, so radiant and rare,

And I had but a single coat, and not a single care;

When I would feast right royally on bacon, bread and beer,

And dig into a stack of hay and doze like any peer;

When I would wash beside a brook my solitary shirt,

And though it dried upon my back I never took a hurt;

When I went romping down the road contemptuous of care,

And slapped Adventure on the back — by Gad! we were a pair;

When, though my pockets lacked a coin, and though my coat was old,

The largess of the stars was mine, and all the sunset gold;

When time was only made for fools, and free as air was I,

And hard I hit and hard I lived beneath the open sky;

When all the roads were one to me, and each had its allure...

Ye Gods! these were the happy days, the days when I was poor.