Class-Mates
Bob Briggs went in for Government,
And helps to run the State;
Some day they say he’ll represent
His party in debate:
But with punk politics his job,
I do not envy Bob.
Jim Jones went in for writing books,
Best sellers were his aim;
He’s ten years younger than he looks,
And licks the heels of Fame:
Though shop—girls make a fuss of him
I do not envy Jim.
Joe Giles went in for grabbing gold,
And grovelled in the dirt;
He, too, looks prematurely old,
His gastric ulcers hurt:
Although he has a heap of dough.
I do not envy Joe.
I’ve neither fame nor power nor wealth,
I fish and hunt for food;
But I have heaps of rugged health,
And life seems mighty good.
So when my class—mates come to spend
A week—end in my shack,
With lake and wood at journey’s end
—They envy Jack.
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