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This poem is often wrongly thought to be by Robert W Service. It is published here to the memory of Hugh Antoine D'Arcy, its rightful father.
An Evening with the Bard of the Yukon, July 18 th 2003 at 20.30pm in the Town-Hall of Lancieux, Brittany.
All Entries 1997 - 2002
All Entries 2002
Odds and Ends, Other Items Of Interest About Robert


Published by Susan on 08/09/2003 (3713 reads)
Only a rhymer, so I am...

Only a rhymer, so I am,
       Lone in the market place;
I shrink, and no one cares a damn
       Though tears corrode my face.
The hollows of my cheeks they track,
       Symbolic of vain hope;
My hands are grimed because I lack
               The price of soap.

Only a rhymer! How my breeks
       Let in the Winter wind;
One of my shoes obscenely leaks,
       My coat is safety pinned.
Although my neb drips bead on bead,
       No handkerchief have I;
My lips are blue, but none have heed
               My songs to buy.

Only a rhymer,--just a chiel
       Spewed from the land of Burns,
  A wastrel and a ne'er-do-weel,
       From whom the public turns.
Alas! It is to late to mend
       The error of my ways,
So I will jingle to the end
              Of all my days.

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