THE POEM PEDDLER There was a merry poem peddler Who helped the folks for miles about- Who was by no means a meddler But like to help the people out.   Now he saw things that others missed And mended many quarrels But for his help he would insist Than none should give him laurels.   He became so much a part Of the lives of simple country folk Than none realized his art, But when his house went up in smoke.   None thought to lend a hand Or offer in time of need And times like these demand So much help and much less greed.   The poem peddler drifted around Reciting his poems of everyday And no voice was a sweeter sound Than his until he went away.   To other pastures he was driven Alas, how the people missed him And all the good that he had given Was but a memory to them   When pain and troubles strike Each thinks how he sang upon the hill And takes a little hike Just to be within his comfort still.

THE VIRTUOUS WOMAN She sang for pennies in the street And begged at times for bread No shoes had she upon her feet And no scarf upon her head   Now those who heard this woman sing- They laughed and sneered at her And many called her "wretched thing" and tossed her every slur.   This poor and frail creature Delivered quite a speech Virtue was the feature- The lesson she did teach.   "If you had known by blues And never any fun, How many in my shoes could do what I have done?"   "For though I'm very poor," She piped from heaven's flute, "I've kept so clean my door And I'm no prostitute."   A tear came to her eye At the sorrow she endured While those who made her cry Stood stunned beyond a word.   . . . . .

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