Trade Made Poem by Rod Morris

From the ages five to fourteen I toiled to make the grade.
My parents said forget it leave school and learn a trade.
So on the day that I turned fifteen, I started my first job.
As a telegram delivery boy, I earned weekly thirty bob.
They supplied the bike, I lent my legs, I pedalled every street.
I wore bike clips on my trousers, shiny patches on my seat.
Four sets of bike tyres later, I decided that's enough.
Then set out to find a new career, without the huff and puff.

A furniture upholsterer, a long time in the game.
Gave ten thousand hours tuition, a diploma with my name.
After just five years hard labour, I finally made the grade.
My parents were ecstatic, for their boy had learned a trade.
At different times in later years, some other jobs Ive had.
But always back to furniture, when times were lean or bad.
Had I stayed at school and swotted, if I'd studied crammed and learned.
As a doctor or a lawyer, just how much would I have earned?
It matters not in hindsight, how much I would have made.
For many things that I have now, I would not have without my trade.