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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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The Centenarian

Published by Susan on 08/08/2003 (2809 reads)
Great Grandfather was ninety-nine...

Great Grandfather was ninety-nine
    And so it was our one dread,
That though his health was superfine
    He'd fail to make the hundred.
Though he was not a rolling stone
    No moss he seemed to gather:
A patriarch of brawn and bone
            Was Great Grandfather.

He should have been senile and frail
    Instead of hale and hearty;
But no, he loved a mug of ale,
    A boisterous old party.
'As frisky as a cold,' said he,
    'A man's allotted span
I've lived but now I plan to be
            A Centenarian.'

Then one night when I called on him
    Oh what a change I saw!
His head was bowed, his eye was dim,
    Down-fallen was his jaw.
Said he: 'Leave me to die, I pray;
    I'm no more bloody use . . .
For in my mouth I found today--
            A tooth that's loose .'

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