Life poems
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Our Daily Bread
© Robert William Service
"Give me my daily breath,"
Through half a sob,
Until untimely death
Shall end my job.
A crust for my award,
I cry in dread:
The Fool
© Robert William Service
"But it isn't playing the game," he said,
And he slammed his books away;
"The Latin and Greek I've got in my head
Will do for a duller day."
My Indian Summer
© Robert William Service
Here in the Autumn of my days
My life is mellowed in a haze.
Unpleasant sights are none to clear,
Discordant sounds I hardly hear.
Young Fellow My Lad
© Robert William Service
"Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad,
On this glittering morn of May?"
"I'm going to join the Colours, Dad;
They're looking for men, they say."
To Sunnydale
© Robert William Service
There lies the trail to Sunnydale,
Amid the lure of laughter.
Oh, how can we unhappy be
Beneath its leafy rafter!
Quatrains
© Robert William Service
One said: Thy life is thine to make or mar,
To flicker feebly, or to soar, a star;
It lies with thee -- the choice is thine, is thine,
To hit the ties or drive thy auto-car.
Bookshelf
© Robert William Service
I like to think that when I fall,
A rain-drop in Death's shoreless sea,
This shelf of books along the wall,
Beside my bed, will mourn for me.
Epitaph
© Robert William Service
No matter how he toil and strive
The fate of every man alive
With luck will be to lie alone,
His empty name cut in a stone.
Rosy-Kins
© Robert William Service
As home from church we two did plod,
"Grandpa," said Rosy, "What is God?"
Seeking an answer to her mind,
This is the best that I could find. . . .
Ignorance
© Robert William Service
Oh happy he who cannot see
With scientific eyes;
Who does not know how flowers grow,
And is not planet wise;
Ant Hill
© Robert William Service
Black ants have made a musty mound
My purple pine tree under,
And I am often to be found,
Regarding it with wonder.
A Busy Man
© Robert William Service
This crowded life of God's good giving
No man has relished more than I;
I've been so goldarned busy living
I've never had the time to die.
Leaves
© Robert William Service
The leaves are falling three and three
Beneath the mothlike moon;
They flutter downward silverly
In muted rigadoon;
And russet dry remote they lie
From feathered tune.
My Will
© Robert William Service
I've made my Will. I don't believe
In luxury and wealth;
And to those loving ones who grieve
My age and frailing health
God's Vagabond
© Robert William Service
A passion to be free
Has ever mastered me;
To none beneath the sun
Will I bow down,--not one
Shall leash my liberty.
Fear
© Robert William Service
I know how father's strap would feel,
If ever I were caught,
So mother's jam I did not steal,
Though theft was in my thought.
The Wanderlust
© Robert William Service
The Wanderlust has lured me to the seven lonely seas,
Has dumped me on the tailing-piles of dearth;
The Wanderlust has haled me from the morris chairs of ease,
Has hurled me to the ends of all the earth.
Michael
© Robert William Service
"It's coming soon and soon, mother, it's nearer every day,
When only men who work and sweat will have a word to say;
When all who earn their honest bread in every land and soil
Will claim the Brotherhood of Man, the Comradeship of Toil;
When we, the Workers, all demand: `What are we fighting for?' . . .
Then, then we'll end that stupid crime, that devil's madness -- War."
Stupidity
© Robert William Service
Stupidity, woe's anodyne,
Be kind and comfort me in mine;
Smooth out the furrows of my brow,
Make me as carefree as a cow,
Content to sleep and eat and drink
And never think
Six Feet Of Sod
© Robert William Service
This is the end of all my ways,
My wanderings on earth,
My gloomy and my golden days,
My madness and my mirth.
