The clock keeps on ticking and ticking away br And the poet of the past is the rhymer of today br And the boy of the fifties showing his years in gray br The Reaper on all lives has the final say br In the local bar-room the old rhymer Bill br Is reciting his verses as he drinks his fill br Nowadays he does seem much further from renown br Than when he was known as the laureate of the town br At local poetry readings never asked to recite br So few now interested on what he does write br Looked up to by many but that in the past br For some who are famous their fame does not last br At least his drinking mates his praises do sing br And he feels happy that to them his verses joy does bring.