Poem by Robert William Service

Surtax

We pitied him because
He lived alone;
His tiny cottage was
His only own.
His little garden had
A wall around;
Yet never was so glad
A bit of ground.

It seemed to fair rejoice
With flowers and fruit;
With blooms it found a voice
When ours was muts.
It smiled without a pause
In gracious glow:
I think it was because
He loved it so.

He had no news to read,
No rent to pay;
His vegetable need
He plucked each day.
His grateful garden gave
Him ample fare;
He lived without a crave,
Without a care.

His bread and milk and tea
Were all he bought;
To us he seemed to be
A sorry lot...
But when we're dead and gone,
With all our fuss,
I guess he'll carry on,
And laugh at us.

1. Highland Hospitality
2. Violet de Vere
3. L'Envoi (I guess this is the final score)
4. Afternoon Tea
5. New Year's Eve

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