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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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Old Codger

Published by Webmaster on 07/30/2003 (2844 reads)
My years are seventy and seven,

Old Codger
(1951)

My years are seventy and seven,
But other ten I beg of Time,
That five may be devoutly given
To votive verse and loyal rhyme;
Each day to dream with pencil poise,
Each day to dream with paper white,
Recording all the simple joys
That minister to my delight.

Then leave me five to lay aside
My patient pen and weary-wise
in home of loving to abide
And wait my fate with quiet eyes;
To grow a silver beard, maybe,
And rarely from seclusion stir,
With pussy purring on my knee,
A frail fireside philosopher.

So Reader, should you chance to scan
This page in Nineteen sixty-one ,
Oh! Will you say: his race he ran,
Or: still he has some laps to run?
I wonder . . . Well, before I go,
Let me be purged of passion base,
And whether there be God or no',
Sweet time, give me a breathing space
To groom my fitly for His grace.


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