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The man above was a murderer, the man below was a thief...

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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

Playwright

Published by Webmaster on 07/30/2003 (2693 reads)
I had a friend of eighty-five

Playwright

I had a friend of eighty-five
Who might today be still alive,
But that he let the doctors sound
And poke him till a flaw they found:
"Your liver's in a parlous state,"
Said they: "We ought to operate."

"I am too old for that," said he.
"it may be bad, but let it be.
It's lasted me throughout my life,
And don't deserve the surgeon's knife.
Just let it go a year or two;
The Lean  Man waits, I'm nearly due."

But as he was a man of fame
They operated just the same.
Alas! he never left his bed,
And in a fortnight he was dead.
And so I think - conclusion grim,
The goddam doctors butchered him.

His name? maybe you know it too,
So don't let "croakers" fool with you.


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