Sunday, October 09, 2005

Morning folks. A lot of you know of my love for Robert Service poems, mainly because of his ballads of the Yukon, where my heart lives. The following shows that he was far from a one-trick pony.

I pawned my sick wife's wedding ring,
To drink and make myself a beast.
I got the most that it would bring,
Of golden coins the very least.
With stealth into her room I crept
And stole it from her as she slept.

I do not think that she will know,
As in it's place I left a band
Of brass that has a brighter glow
And gleamed upon her withered hand.
I do not think that she can tell
The change-she does not see too well.

Pray God, she does'nt find me out.
I'd rather far I would be dead.
Yet yesterday she seemed to doubt,
And looking at me long she said:
"My finger must have shrunk, because
My ring seems bigger than it was."

She gazed at it so wistfully,
And one big tear rolled down her cheek.
Said she: "You'll bury it with me..."
I was so moved I could not speak.
Oh wretched me! How whiskey can
Bring out the devil in a man!

And yet I know she loves me still,
As on the morn that we were wed;
And darkly guess I also will
Be doomed the day that she is dead.
And yet I swear, before she's gone,
I will retrieve her ring from pawn.

I'll get it though I have to steal,
Then when to ease her bitter pain
They give her sleep oh I will feel
Her hand and slip it on again;
Through tears her wasted face I'll see,
And pray to God: "Oh pity me!"

(We'll pick up the Q&WOTD's to-morrow)

Trucker Bob blogged at 4:44 AM

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