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Read more poems by Robert Service: Robert Service Poems at Poetry X.

'Come, see,' said he, 'my four-foot shelf,
          A forty volume row;
And every one I wrote myself,
          But that, of course, you know.'
I stared, I searched a memory dim,
          For though an author too,
Somehow I'd never heard of him,--
          None of his books I knew.

Said I: 'I'd like to borrow one,
          Fond memories to recall.'
Said he: 'I'll gladly give you some,
          And autograph them all.'
And so a dozen books he brought,
          And signed tome after tome:
Of course I thanked him quite a lot,
          And took them home.

So now I have to read his work,
          Though dry as dust it be;
No portion of it may I shirk,
          Lest he should question me.
This tale is true,--although it looks
          To me a bloody shame,
A guy could father forty books,
          yet no one know his name.

Added: 29 Jun 2002 | Last Read: 5 Sep 2008 1:27 PM | Viewed: 2283 times

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