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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

My Bear

Published by Susan on 07/29/2003 (3220 reads)
I never killed a bear because...

I never killed a bear because
I always thought them critters was
                            So kindo' cute;
Though round my shack they often came,
I'd raise my rifle and take aim,
                            But couldn't shoot.
Yet there was one full six-feet tall
Who came each night and gobbled all
                            The grub in sight;
On my pet garden truck he'd feast,
Until I thought I must at least
                             Give him a fight.

I put some corn mush in a pan;
He lapped it swiftly down and ran
                             With bruin glee;
A second day I did the same,
Again with eagerness he came
                             To gulp and flee.
The third day I mixed up a cross
Of mustard and tobasco sauce,
                              And ginger too,
Well spiced with pepper of cayenne,
Topped it with treacled mush, and then
                              Set out the brew.

He was a huge and husky chap;
I saw him shamble to the trap,
                              The dawn was dim.
He squatted down on his behind,
And through the cheese-cloth window-blind
                              I peeked at him.
I never saw a bear so glad;
A look of joy seraphic had
                              His visage brown;
He slavered, and without suspish-
- Ion hugged that horrid dish,
                              And swilled it down.

Just for a moment he was still,
Then he erupted loud and shrill
                              With frantic yell;
The picket fence he tried to vault;
He turned a double somersault,
                               And ran like hell.
I saw him leap into the lake,
As if a thirst of fire to slake,
                               And thrash up foam;
And then he sped along the shore,
And beat his breast with raucous roar,
                               And made for home.

I guess he told the folks back there
My homestead was taboo for bear
                               For since that day,
Although my pumpkins star the ground,
No other bear has come around,
Nor trace of bruin have I found,
                               - Well, let me pray!


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