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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


Published by Webmaster on 07/30/2003 (3473 reads)
Do they envy her as she flashed by


Do they envy her as she flashed by
    In her shiny limousine,
In her satin gown with head held high
    And her look of a movie queen?
Do they see the lines in her painted face,
    And the boredom glooming through?
Do they envy her in her haughty place?
                        THEY DO.

Do they know she is just a painted doll,
    A girl in a gilded cage?
Well, not exactly a gangster's noll
    But the toy of a man of age.
Do they deem her a whited sepulchre
    And a blot to womanhood?
Do you think they would swop their lots with her?
                            THEY WOULD.

And bending over the kitchen sink
    Where the supper dishes soak,
Do they thank the Lord as they gladly think
    They are just plain honest folk?
With her sheeny pearls in a triple cord
    And her face of a fallen saint,
Are they glad that virtue's its own reward?
                            THEY DAMN WELL AIN'T.

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