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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 08/08/2003 (3459 reads)
I often wonder how...

I often wonder how
     Life clicks because
They don't make women now
     Like Mammy was.
When broods of two or three
     Content most men,
How wonderful was she
     With children ten!

Though sixty years have gone,
     As I look back,
I see her rise at dawn,
     Our boots to black;
Pull us from drowsy bed,
     Wet sponge to pass,
And speed us porridge fed
     To morning class.

Our duds to make and mend,
     Far into night,
O'er needle she would spend
     By bleary light.
Yet as her head drooped low,
     With withered hair,
It seemed the candle glow
     Made halo there.

And so with silvered pow
     I sigh because
They don't make women now
     Like Mammy was.

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