Tinker Time is a merry old man,
Winding by with his creaky van,
Shouting, "Ho,"
As the people go,
"Richman, poorman, beggarman, thief.
Bring out your burdens and your world old Grief.
Work is long and my hours are brief."
Out they run with their plagues unpacked.
Hope ahead with her kettle cracked.
Folly last
With his bells held fast,
Tuneless twanging by his tattered cap.
Young folk, old folk, hear the hammers tap!
Heap your troubles in the Tinker's lap!
Who's this running with a broken pot?
Fortune beggared of her last, lean jot,
Jogging by
To a pauper's sigh;
Luck beside with a cup to mend.
Come, all my hearties. with a dream to spend!
Cares aboard for the rainbow's end!
Here is Love with a heart in twain.
Youth repairing it with tears in vain.
Fiddling Song
In the jostling throng
Waves the ribbon of a broken bow.
Tailor, sailor. passing to and fro,
Time is swift, bring your wares of Woe!
Down the road to a rollicking cry.
Off he goes with a winking eye.
Singing "Ho"
As the seasons go,
Soldier, sailor, beggarman, thief,
I've got a solder for your care and grief.
Joy wears long and your tears are brief.
First published in The Bulletin, 15 August 1918
