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Each New Year's Eve I used to brood on my misdoings of the past

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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

Young Mother

Published by Susan on 08/08/2003 (2434 reads)
Her baby was so full of glee...

Her baby was so full of glee,
       And through the day
It laughed and babbled on her knee
       In happy play.
It pulled her hair all out of curl
       With noisy joy;
So peppy she was glad her girl
       Was not a boy.

Then as she longed for it to sleep,
       To her surprise
It just relaxed within her keep
       With closing eyes.
And as it lay upon her breast
       So still its breath,
So exquisite its utter rest
       It looked like death.

It seemed like it had slipped away
       To shadow land;
With tiny face like tinted clay
       And waxen hand.
No ghost of sigh, no living look . . .
       Then with an ache
Of panic fear and love she shook
       Her babe awake.

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