The Buyers
Father drank himself to death,—
Quite enjoyed it.
Urged to draw a sober breath
He’d avoid it.
‘Save your sympathy,’ said Dad;
‘Never sought it.
Hob—nail liver, gay and glad,
Sure,—I bought it.’
Uncle made a heap of dough,
Ponies playing.
‘Easy come and easy go,’
Was his saying.
Though he died in poverty
Fit he thought it,
Grinning with philosophy:
‘Guess I bought it.’
Auntie took the way of sin,
Seeking pleasure;
Lovers came, her heart to win,
Bringing treasure.
Sickness smote,—with lips that bled
Brave she fought it;
Smiling on her dying bed:
‘Dears, I bought it.’
My decades of life are run,
Eight precisely;
Yet I’ve lost a lot of fun
Living wisely.
Too much piety don’t pay,
Time has taught it;
Hadn’t guts to go astray;
Life’s a bloody bore today,—
Well, I’ve bought it.
Altre opere di Robert W. Service...
