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God's truth! these be the bitter times...

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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

Her Toys

Published by Susan on 08/02/2003 (3039 reads)
I sat her in her baby chair...

I sat her in her baby chair,
      And set upon its tray
Her kewpie doll and teddy bear,
      But no, she would not play.
Although they looked so wistfully
      Her favour to implore,
She laughed at me with elfin glee
      And dashed them to the floor.

I brought her lamb and circus clown,
      But it was just the same:
With shrill of joy she threw them down
      As if it were a game.
Maybe it was, for she would look
      To see where they were lain
And act pathetic till I took
      Her toys to her again.

To-day there's just an empty chair,
      And 'mid a mist of pain
I'd give my life if she were there
      To toss her toys again.
A tiny ghost is all I see,
      Who laughs the while I cry,
And lifts her little hands with glee
            --Unto the sky.


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