Five years ago he swept the snow,
Or the mud, or the dust or the leaves that blow,
Or stood at the corner "dossing";
Picking up rubbish and dangerous rind
That careless people had left behind,
He swept the crossing.
And still he sweeps and clears the way
In blizzard and mist and soaking spray,
Out on the Channel tossing;
Picking up mines of a devilish kind