The poet of the future'll blow a bugle, like as not—
Most all us modern poets had to blow fer what we've got.
To keep the pot a-b'ilin' we all have to raise a din
To make the public look our way—an' pass the shekels in.
The scarcity of bugles seems now the greatest lack
Though some of us keep blowin' 'thout a bugle to our back.
The poet of the future! When once he takes his theme
His pen will slip as smoothly as a canoe glides down stream.
He'll sing from overflowin' heart—his music will be free—
Would you take up a subscription fer a robin in a tree?