The Old Man Of Rhyme

He is many decades past his writing prime
But still he is rhyming the old man of rhyme
And dare you to tell him his best days are gone
In his eightieth year and he keeps penning on
To read his poems the organizers of poetry readings him never invite
They see it as old fashioned the stuff he does write
As dead as the dodo of rhyme some do say
But then suppose everything does have it's day
To his old mates in the local pub on saturday night
The best of his on request he does recite
And as well as applause for him there's an encore
And he never refuse when they ask him for more
A legend in his local pub in the town
And for him that does seem sufficent renown.

by Francis Duggan

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