Robert William Service (Роберт Уильям Сервис)

The Centenarian

Great Grandfather was ninety-nine
And so it was our one dread,
That though his health was superfine
He'd fail to make the hundred.
Though he was not a rolling stone
No moss he seemed to gather:
A patriarch of brawn and bone
Was Great Grandfather.

He should have been senile and frail
Instead of hale and hearty;
But no, he loved a mug of ale,
A boisterous old party.
'As frisky as a cold,' said he,
'A man's allotted span
I've lived but now I plan to be
A Centenarian.'

Then one night when I called on him
Oh what a change I saw!
His head was bowed, his eye was dim,
Down-fallen was his jaw.
Said he: 'Leave me to die, I pray;
I'm no more bloody use...
For in my mouth I found today--
A tooth that's loose.'

1. Music in the Bush
2. The Rhyme of the Remittance Man
3. The Little Old Log Cabin
4. The Younger Son
5. The March of the Dead

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1751

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