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You say I am the slave of Fate...

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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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Infirmities

Published by Susan on 07/30/2003 (2627 reads)
Because my teeth are feebly few...

Because my teeth are feebly few
I cannot bolt my grub like you,
But have to chew and chew and chew
       As you can see;
Yet every mouthful seems so good
I would not haste it if I could,
And so I salivate my food
       With ecstasy.

Because my purse is poor in pence
I spend my dough with common-sense,
And live without the least pretence
       In simple state;
The things I can't afford to buy
Might speed the day I have to die,
So pleased with poverty am I
       And bless my fate.

Because my heart is growing tired,
No more by foolish passion fired,
Nor by ambitious hope inspired,
       As in my youth,
I am content to sit and rest,
And prove the last of life's the best,
And ponder with a cheerful zest
       Some saintly truth.

Because I cannot do the things
I used to, comfort round me clings,
And from the moil of market brings
       Me rich release;
So welcome age with tranquil mind;
Even infirmities are kind,
And in our frailing we may find
       Life's crown of peace.


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