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My brother Jim's a millionaire While I have scarce a penny...

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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.
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Baby Sitter

Published by Susan on 07/30/2003 (3261 reads)
From torrid heat to frigid cold...

From torrid heat to frigid cold
     I've rovered land and sea;
And now, with halting heart I hold
     My grandchild on my knee:
Yet while I've eighty years all told,
     Of moons she has but three.

She sleeps, that fragile miniature
     Of future maidenhood;
She will be wonderful, I'm sure,
     As over her I brood;
She is so innocent, so pure,
     I know she will be good.

My way I've won from woe to weal,
     And hard has been the fight;
Yet in my ingle-nook I feel
     A wondrous peace to-night;
And over me serenely steal
     Warm waves of love and light.

"What sloppy stuff!" I hear you say.
     "Give us a lusty song."
Alas! I'm bent and gnarled and grey,--
     My life may not be long:
Yet let its crown of glory be
     This child upon me knee.

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