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You ask me what I call Success - It is, I wonder, Happiness?

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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

Gangrene

Published by Susan on 08/09/2003 (2878 reads)
So often in the mid of night...

So often in the mid of night
        I wake me in my bed
With utter panic of affright
        To find my feet are dead;
And pace the floor to easy my pain
        And make them live again.

The folks at home are so discreet;
        They see me walk and walk
To keep the blood-flow in my feet,
        And though they never talk
I've heard them whisper: 'Mother may
        Have them cut off some day.'

Cut off my feet! I'd rather die . . .
        And yet the years of pain,
When in the darkness I will lie
        And pray to God in vain,
Thinking in agony: Oh why
Can doctors not annul our breath
        In honourable death?

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