Scrap iron!
Cries the rag man with his bugle in his hand,
And with his unkempt horse slowly trudging on behind,
Adorned with red and green balloons tied tightly to its reins,
To give to all the children when some metal they do find.
Scrap iron!
Cries the rag man as he peers from left to right,
For the slightest movement and the glimpse of opening door,
But alas the street is quiet and nobody is about,
And so he blows his bugle now much harder than before.
Scrap iron?
Asks the rag man to a gent who trims his hedge,
But in resignation he does sadly shake his head,
And as the horse and rag man now continue on their way,
Decide to try their luck within another road instead.
Scrap iron!
Cries the rag man as the rain begins to fall,
So he dons a dirty cap to shield his greasy hair,
Slips on a tattered overcoat he keeps inside his cart,
And ties some string around it thinking life is so unfair.
ANDREW BLAKEMORE
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/scrap-iron/
