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The Centenarian

Robert Service

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.'

Added: 29 Jun 2002 | Last Read: 18 Oct 2018 9:19 PM | Viewed: 5735 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/5408/ | Viewed on 18 October 2018.
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