Tom Keeper sat beside the road. Tears ran down his face.
He wanted to earn some money, but couldn’t find his place.
Along came Sherry No, an adventurous black-haired lass.
She promised she’d find work for Tom, and she’d find it fast.

They’d hardly walked a mile, when No said, “Take a look.
Miss Darling’s in need of help. Let’s carry a couple books.”

So a BOOKKEEPER Tom became, walking tall and straight.
Until he dropped them in a puddle near the castle gate.

Tom Keeper slumped beside the road. Tears ran down his face.
“I’m a horrible bookkeeper. I’ll never find my place.”
“Yes, you will,” roared Sherry No. She snapped her fingers loud.
“We’ve got a job right here for you, a’managing this crowd.”

So a GATEKEEPER Tom became, collecting quarter tolls.
But he saved not a single coin. His pockets were full of holes.

The money hit the hardened ground. The people gave a roar.
But Tom had failed another job and skulked alone once more.
“Tom!” No shouted inside the mob. “You’ve got to make this cease.
They’re biting arms and ankles now. Hurry! Restore the peace.”

Tom Keeper hoisted a sweeping broom. “Back! I’ll get you tame.
“Time we had some order here. Tom PEACEKEEPER is my name.”

He swung the broom high above, aimed it at a head,
He missed by quite a long shot and hit a horse instead.
The horse upset an apple cart, apples upset some feet,
And soon hundreds of people were upset upon the street.

“Quick this way,” yelled friendly No. Both safely got away,
hiding inside a nearby barn beneath a mound of hay.
There they talked for many hours, unsure of what to do.
What jobs might Tom be good at?
They came up with a few:

“An innkeeper?” said Sherry No.

“But I’m always running out.”

“A barkeeper?” said Sherry No.

“That’s not what I’m about.”

“A beekeeper, a crowkeeper,
or even keep a door?”

“Not those or locks, or shops,
or stocks, not even a quiet store.
I have no goals; I can’t keep score.
I lose at every game;
No animals or houses own,
And yet Keeper is my name.”

Tom Keeper sat inside the hay. More tears ran down his face.
At last it seemed there was someone who couldn’t find his place.

The moon crept high above the barn. The owls began to chime.
“It’s getting late,” No said to Tom. “Have you got the time?”

“It’s 8:15 and 30 seconds,” said Tom about to sneeze.
“Excuse me,” brightened Sherry No, “could you repeat that please?”

“It’s 8:15 and 31, 32, and three and four.”
A giant smile swept over Tom as he counted more.
“Thirty-five and six, seven, eight,
 and nine and zero, one.”
“That’s quite a talent,” said Sherry No.
“Yes, and it’s very fun!”

So a TIMEKEEPER Tom became, the finest in the land.
How do I know?
I’m Sherry No
and this isn’t second-hand.