Maggie's Farm

And now, Big Master, I'm broken and bent and twisted and scarred,
But I've held my job, and Thou knowest, and Thou wilt not judge me hard.
Thou knowest my sins are many, and often I've played the fool -
Whiskey and cards and women, they made me the devil's tool.
I was like a child with money, I flung it away with a curse,
Feasting a fawning parasite, or glutting a harlot's purse,
Then back to the woods repentent, back to the mill or mine,
I, the worker of workers, everything in my line.
Everything hard but headwork (I'd no more brains than a kid).
A brute with strength to labor, doing as I was bid;
Living in camps with menfolk, a lonely and loveless life,
Never knew kiss of sweetheart, never caress of wife.
A brute with strength to labor, and they were so far above -
Yet I'd gladly have gone to the gallows for one little look of love.

from The Song of the Wage-Slave, by Robert Service. Read entire: Click here: RPO -- Robert W. Service : The Song of the Wage-slave