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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

Rhyme And Me

Published by Susan on 08/10/2003 (3310 reads)
Said I to Rhyme: "I'm sick of you...

Said I to Rhyme: "I'm sick of you,
To death you're sadly overdue.
I'm weary of your tinny chimes
I've stuck more than ten thosand times.
And yet I know each stale refrain
I'll use again and yet again;
Or else, if desperate I be,
I'll take to making verse that's free.
But that's so easy to compose . . .
Ah, no! I guess I'll have to stick
To lines which have an end that click."

Said Rhyme to me: "Oh, Bard ungrate,
To me you owe your lucky fate.
And all you have and all you are,
Your yacht, your villa and your car.
Your wife's tiara and her mink
Are hers because your verses clink.
If you indulged in stanzas blank,
You'd have no money in the bank.
I reckon, Pal, your happy time
Is based upon the rock of Rhyme.
Despite your words so worn and stale
You dine on caviar and quail,"
Wherat I hung my head in shame,
Of brash banality to blame . . .
Yet go on jingling just the same.


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