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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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The Wildy Ones

Published by Susan on 08/01/2003 (3679 reads)
The sheep are in the silver wood...

The sheep are in the silver wood,
      The cows are in the broom;
The goats are in the wild mountain
      And won't be home by noon.

My mother sang that olden tune
      Most every night,
And to her newest she would croon
      By candle light;
While cuddling in the velvet gloom
      I'd dream of cows
That sought each dawn 'mid golden broom
      To gently browse.

Or I would glimpse the silver wood,
      The birchen glade,
Where pearly sheep in quiet mood
      Cropped unafraid;
But how I loved in lapsing drowse
      The mountain wild!
The goats were more than sheep and cows
      To one wee child.

For cows and sheep are shelter-wise,
      And love the lea;
While goats have starlight in their eyes,
      In cragland free . . .
And now on edge of endless sleep
      Wryly I note
How less I'm kin to kine and sheep
      Than rebel goat!


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