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Robert William Service (Роберт Уильям Сервис) My Favourite Fan Being a writer I receive Sweet screeds from folk of every land; Some are so weird you'd scarce believe, And some quite hard to understand: But as a conscientious man I type my thanks to all I can. So when I got a foreign scrawl That spider-webbed across the page, Said I: "This is the worst of all; No doubt a child of tender age Has written it, so I'll be kind, And send an answer to her mind. Promptly I typed a nice reply And thought that it would be the end, But in due course confused was I To get a letter signed: Your Friend; And with it, full of girlish grace, A snapshot of a winsome face. "I am afraid," she wrote to me, "That you must have bees sure surprised At my poor penmanship... You see, My arms and legs are paralyzed: With pen held in a sort of sheath I do my writing with my teeth." Though sadness followed my amaze, And pity too, I must confess The look that lit her laughing gaze Was one of sunny happiness... Oh spirit of a heroine! Your smile so tender, so divine, I pray, may never cease to shine. Robert William Service's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1287 |
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