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Perched high upon an office stool

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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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Finnigan's Finish

Published by Susan on 08/08/2003 (2650 reads)
They thought I'd be a champion...

They thought I'd be a champion;
    They boasted loud of me.
A dozen victories I'd won,
    The Press was proud of me.
I saw myself with glory crowned,
    And would, beyond a doubt,
Till last night in the second round
    A Dago knocked me out.

It must have been an accident;
    I cannot understand.
For I was so damn confident
    I'd lick him with one hand.
I bounded in the ring to cheers;
    I panted for the fray:
Ten minutes more with hoots and jeers
    They bore me limp away.

I will not have the nerve to face
    The sporting mob today;
The doll I fell for--my disgrace
    Will feel and fade away.
Last night upon the brink of fame
    No favour did I lack:
Tomorrow from the sink of shame
    I'll beg my old job back.

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