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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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Melancholy Motorist

Published by Webmaster on 07/30/2003 (3213 reads)
I think a car has something human

Melancholy Motorist

I think a car has something human
That serves one with a willing heart;
I coddled mine juts like a women
And kept it sedulously smart.
And as we roved the world together
And knew adventure near and far,
Braving the brunt of bitter weather
I learned to love my little car.

A year ago I cam to sell it,
(Oh! Not because it was so old)
But people said - I grieve to tell it,
It was outstyled  and should be sold.
"Get rid of it," my daughter said,
"While you can ask a price that's pretty."
Get rid of it - I scratched my head,
Thinking her words more wise than witty.

And so I sold my lovely dear,
And saw a stranger drive it gladly;
He wasn't an expert, I fear,
For he was steering rather madly.
I winced to hear the crash of gear,
And loathed his money as he paid it;
With heart of woe I watched it go,
And somehow felt I had betrayed it.

I saw it only yesterday,
And gazed at it with bitter grieving;
So warped and worn, so foul forlorn,
A rueful wreck beyond retrieving.
it seemed to look reproach at me;
And as by local tinker driven
It jarred away, I prayed that we
For our unkindness be forgive.

For faithful service has no price
In man or beast or metal shining;
Ingratitude's the meanest vice
And takes a plenty of repining.

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