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All day he lay upon the sand...

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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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Odds and Ends, Other Items Of Interest About Robert

Sailor Son

Published by Susan on 08/09/2003 (3279 reads)
When you come home I'll not be round...

When you come home I'll not be round
      To welcome you.
They'll take you to a grassy mound
      So neat and new;
Where I'll be sleeping--O so sound!
      The ages through.

I'll not be round to broom the hearth,
      To feed the chicks;
And in the wee room of your birth
      Your bed to fix;
Rose room that knew your baby mirth
      Your tiny tricks.

I'll not be round . . . The garden still
      With bees will hum;
To cheerful you the throstle's bill
      Will not be dumb;
The rambler rose will overspill
      When you will come.

Bird, bee and bloom, they'll greet you all
      With scented sound;
Yet though the joy of your footfall
      Will thrill the ground
Your mother with her old grey shawl--
      Will not be round.

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