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The little pink house is high on the hill And my heart is not what it used to be

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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

The Receptionist

Published by Susan on 08/08/2003 (2577 reads)
France is the fairest land on earth...

France is the fairest land on earth,
       Lovely to heart's desire,
And twice a year I span its girth,
       Its beauty to admire.
But when a pub I seek each night,
       To my profound vexation
On form they hand me I've to write
               My occupation.

So once in a derisive mood
       My pen I nibbled;
And though I know I never should:
       'Gangster' I scribbled.
But as the clerk with startled face
       Looked stark suspicion,
I blurred it out and in its place
               Put 'Politician.'

Then suddenly dissolved his frown;
       His face fused to a grin,
As humorously he set down
       The form I handed in.
His shrug was eloquent to view.
       Quoth he: 'What's in a name?
In France, alas! the lousy two
               Are just the same.'

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