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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 (3600 reads)
A poet is a human joke;


A poet is a human joke;
The humouristic people poke
Their fun at him and laugh a lot:
I'm glad a poet I am not.
He write a volume none will buy;
From it the customer doth shy:
Though fine as Keats and wise as Plato
He drops it like a hot potato.

A poet's life is cruel hard,
And if I were a blooming bard
I'd go around in patchy pants
And live on dole of maiden aunts.
A poet has a sorry time:
Thank God I'm just a man of rhyme
And in plain verse my thoughts compose,
Or even condescend to prose.

So you who wrestle with the Muse
And to abandon it refuse,
Regard with due humility
Your lyrical futility;
And think of poets ranked sublime
Who grace the pantheon of Time,
Of Milton, Shakespeare, Pope and Donne,
Of Browning, Burns and Tennyson.

So friend with these let's be content,
Nor seek to join the poor per cent
Of goofy guys who homage pay
To piddling poets of today.

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