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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
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Spats

Published by Susan on 08/08/2003 (2106 reads)
When young I was a Socialist...

When young I was a Socialist
        Despite my tender years;
No blessed chance I ever missed
        To slam the profiteers.
Yet though a fanatic I was,
        And cursed aristocrats,
The Party chucked me out because
        I sported Spats.

Aye, though on soap boxes I stood,
        And spouted in the parks,
They grizzled that my foot-wear would
        Be disavowed my Marx.
It's buttons of a pearly sheen
        Bourgois they deemed and thus
They told me; 'You must choose between
        Your spats and us.'

Alas! I loved my gaitered feet
        Of smoothly fitting fawn;
They were so snappy and so neat,
        A gift from Uncle John
Who had a fortune in the Bank
        That one day might be mine:
'Give up my spats!' said I, 'I thank
        You--but resign.'

Today when red or pink I see
        In stripy pants of state,
I think of how they lost in me
        A demon of debate.
I muse as leaders strut about
        In frock-coats and high hats . . .
The bloody party chucked me out
        Because of Spats.

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