I heard, impassively, the doctors talk.
From that day, without crutch, I could not walk.
O, the sick-hearted times that took me then!
The days, like vultures, sat to watch me dying.
It seemed as if they lived to feed on men.
I found no work, it seemed so useless trying.
And I got sick of hearing doorbells ring:
Begging in London was a hopeless thing.
Once I had driven: I tried to get a job
At driving ’busses, but there wasn’t any;