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He burned a hole in frozen muck, He pierced the icy mould,

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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

Local Lad

Published by Susan on 08/08/2003 (2337 reads)
I never saw a face so bright...

I never saw a face so bright
     With brilliant blood and joy,
As was the grinning mug last night
     Of Dick, our local boy,
When with a clumsy, lucky clout
     He knocked the champion out.

A week ago he swung a pick
     And sweated in a ditch.
Tonight he's togged up mighty slick,
     And fancies himself rich.
With floozies, fine food, bubbly drink
     He'll go to hell I think.

Unless they make another match;
     And if they do I guess
The champion won't have a scratch,
     But Dick will be a mess;
His map will be a muck of gore
     As he sprawls on the floor.

Then he'll go back his pick to swing,
     And sweat deep in the mud . . .
Yet still I see him in the ring,
     So gay with glee and blood,
Dancing a jig and holding high
     His gloves to climb the sky.

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