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Here in the Autumn of my days my life is mellowed in a haze

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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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Archives > Books and Poetry > Poetry > Unpublished Verse > Sourdough's Lament

Sourdough's Lament

Published by Susan on 08/10/2003 (5420 reads)
When I was a Klondike high-roller...

When I was a Klondike high-roller
 I tilted my poke with the best,
Through climate at times might be polar,
 I'd plenty of hair on my chest.
Now while I've no trace of rheumatics,
 And maybe I shouldn't complain,
I'm worried because I just ain't what I was,
 And I wish I was Eighty again.

I still have my love for the ladies,
 Chuck grand-mannies under the chin;
Yet, Having a horror of Hades
 I'm kindo' allergic to sin.
Aye, though the hoch-bird be a-singing,
 I'm deaf to its dulcet refrain;
When the going gets rude you've gotta be good,-
 Gee! I wish I was Eighty again.

Some claim that the Nineties were naughty,
 Them statements I grieve to reverse;
You've got to be humble - not haughty
 To jiggetty-jog of the hearse.
I blink at the blonde in bikini,
 I shrink from the wink of champagne . . .
But reforming, by heck! What a pain in the neck!
 Gosh! I wish I was Eighty again!


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