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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
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Birds of a Feather

Published by Susan on 07/30/2003 (2888 reads)
Of bosom friends I've had but seven...

Of bosom friends I've had but seven,
         Despite my years are ripe;
I hope they're now enjoying Heaven,
         Although they're not the type;
Nor, candidly, no more am I,
         Though overdue to die.

For looking back I see that they
         Were weak and wasteful men;
They loved a sultry jest alway,
         And women now and then.
They smoked and gambled, soused and swore,
         --Yet no one was a bore.

'Tis strange I took to lads like these,
         On whom the good should frown;
Yet all with poetry would please
         To wash his wassail down;
Their temples touched the starry way,
         But O what feet of clay!

Well, all are dust, of fame bereft;
         They bore a cruel cross,
And I, the canny one, am left,--
         Yet as I grieve their loss,
I deem, because they loved me well,
         They'll welcome me in Hell.


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