The winds are icy, and his job’s quite dicey,
Yet I behold his smile each day when he comes.
His walk is spicy while he trods rooms pricey;
Oh! You should notice him when he laughs and runs!
He would learn you a lesson or two, dear friend.
If you observed him thanking those that offend.
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He does inhabit rooms that oft look like glooms,
Oh! But he prizes all he’s got, come what may.
He visits us with brooms, helps each man who dooms,
But I find it sad that he has got no say.
The few months that we were compelled to stay home,
He came, collected our dirt, greeted all in warm tone.
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So now imagine what’d hap if he fell in yon gap
You see right there in the middle of this lane.
It’d be a mishap if he chanced on some trap,
For if we lived with garbage, we wouldn’t be sane.
It’s high time we thanked yon garbageman, you see.
He permits us to live a life that’s dirt-free.
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But I find it sad when I see the men bad
Who are rude and reckless and thankless and lame.
They do go very mad when they see dirt tad
Upon their floors, which sure are not wont to blame.
And then I find them cursing yon great garbageman
Who stands still forced to harken jibes of some man.
The very next day he comes to me to say
That all insults he hears are part of his life.
So for help he won’t bay fore hitting the hay
For cleaning our mess is his sole job, no strife.
Oh, I wish to hail yon man who makes our days
When even it rains or snows, all for mere pays.
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