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Robert William Service (Роберт Уильям Сервис)


Local Lad


I never saw a face so bright
With brilliant blood and joy,
As was the grinning mug last night
Of Dick, our local boy,
When with a clumsy, lucky clout
He knocked the champion out.

A week ago he swung a pick
And sweated in a ditch.
Tonight he's togged up mighty slick,
And fancies himself rich.
With floozies, fine food, bubbly drink
He'll go to hell I think.

Unless they make another match;
And if they do I guess
The champion won't have a scratch,
But Dick will be a mess;
His map will be a muck of gore
As he sprawls on the floor.

Then he'll go back his pick to swing,
And sweat deep in the mud...
Yet still I see him in the ring,
So gay with glee and blood,
Dancing a jig and holding high
His gloves to climb the sky.



Robert William Service's other poems:
  1. The Prospector
  2. It is Later than You Think
  3. The Pines
  4. The Lark
  5. On the Wire


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