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| Clippings of Myles's stories from the Shields Gazette |
The Men that don’t fit in
Myles Toale AB
date unknown
There’s a race of men that don’t fit in
A race that can’t stay still;
So they break the hearth of kith and kin
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove in flood, And they climb
the mountain’s crest;
Their’s is the curse of the gipsy blood
And they don’t know how to rest
--
And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace
It’s the steady, quiet plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled
Forgets that his prime is past
Till he stands one day with a hope that dead
In the glare of the truth at last.
--
He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life’s been a jolly good joke on him
And now is the time to laugh
Ha! Ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win.
He’s a rolling stone, and it’s bred on the bone
He’s a man who won’t fit in.
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