Because I was a wonton wild
     And welcomed many a lover,
Who is the father of my child
     I wish I could discover.
For though I know it is not right
     In tender arms to tarry,
A barmaid has to be polite
     To Tom and Dick and Harry.

My truest love was Poacher Jim:
     I wish my babe was his'n.
Yet I can't father it on him
     Because he was in prison.
As uniforms I like, I had
     A soldier and a sailor;
Then there was Pete the painter lad,
     And Timothy the tailor.

Though virtue hurt you vice ain't nice;
     They say to err is human;
Alas! one pays a bitter price,
     It's hell to be a woman.
Oh dear! Why was I born a lass
     Who hated to say: No, sir.
I'd better in my sorry pass
     Blame Mister Simms, the grocer.

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 463 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Robert William Service
Poem: Florrie
Volume: Rhymes for My Rags
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