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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 Seed

Published by Susan on 08/09/2003 (3033 reads)
I was a seed that fell...

I was a seed that fell
        In silver dew;
And nobody could tell,
        For no one knew;
No one could tell my fate,
        As I grew tall;
None visioned me with hate,
        No, none at all.

A sapling I became,
        Blest by the sun;
No rumour of my shame
        Had any one.
Oh I was proud indeed,
        And sang with glee,
When from a tiny seed
        I grew a tree.

I was so stout and strong
        Though still so young,
When sudden came a throng
        With angry tongue;
They cleft me to the core
        With savage blows,
And from their ranks a roar
        Of rage arose.

I was so proud a seed
        A tree to grow;
Surely there was no need
        To lay me low.
Why did I end so ill,
        The midst of three
Black crosses on a hill
        Called Calvary?

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