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Tell me, Tramp, where I may go To be free from human woe

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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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My Tails

Published by Susan on 08/08/2003 (3257 reads)
I haven't worn my evening dress...

I haven't worn my evening dress
    For nearly twenty years;
Oh I'm unsocial, I confess,
    A hermit, it appears.
So much moth-balled it's but away,
    And though wee wifie wails,
Never unto my dimmest day
            I'll don my tails.

How slim and trim I looked in them,
    Though I was sixty old;
And now their sleekness I condemn
    To lie in rigid fold.
I have a portrait of myself
    Proud-printed in the Press,
In garb now doomed to wardrobe shelf,--
            My evening dress.

So let this be my last request,
    That when I come to die,
In tails I may be deftly drest,
    With white waistcoat and tie.
No, not for me a vulgar shroud
    My carcass to caress;--
Oh let me do my coffin proud
            In evening dress!

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