Though I have drank old Tubrid's sparkling waters
And prayed at the small shrine by Tubrid Well
It hasn't made me a successful person
And it won't save me from the flames of hell.

For I can't boast of any great achievements
And of victories as such I cannot tell
I'm just the bloke who pen the simple verses
That literary critics bag as doggerel.

I've heard the figbirds piping on the Gold Coast
And lories on the corals chirp and sing
And seen the brown fruit bats in Cascade Gardens
Roost upside down to high branches they cling.

But many others describe Mother Nature better
And glorify her in great poetry
A great poet's work will live on through the ages
And will not fade out in a century.

So many people look up to the rich and famous
If you are wealthy you they wish to know
And many would consider me a failure
For sixty years I don't have much to show.

But I don't feel sorry that I don't have millions
And I won't be fretting for my lack of fame
For money to me is not that important
And there's more important things that one might name.

There's inner contentment and love of Nature
And these are priceless and free to enjoy
And there's happiness and love of self and others
Such lovely things that money cannot buy.

I've read sad stories of the rich and famous
Poor in some ways to the point of despair
And I'd rather be considered as a loser
Than live as an unhappy millionaire.

Perhaps I am not one of life's successes
Though I prayed at the Shrine by Tubrid Well
I am the bloke who write the simple verses
That literary critics bag as doggerel.

My prime and better days in life were over
When I left Claraghatlea and Annagloor
And though many may consider me a failure
I do not see myself as sad and poor.

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