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Robert W Service - Old Scout
Work rating: Low

Is it because I`m bent and grey,
      Though wearing rather well,
That I can slickly get away
      With all the yarns I tell?
Is it because my bleary eye
      No longer beams with youth
That I can plant a whopping lie,
      And flout the truth?
      
I wonder why folks hark to me
      Where once they would have laughed?
They treat my yarns respectfully,
      No matter how they`re daft.
They count the notches on my gun
      And stroke its polished butt,
Wanting to know why every one
      Of them was cut.

Indeed were I to stick to fact
      Their interest would flag;
Dramatically I must act
      The rôle of scalliwag;
A battle veteran to be,
      A frozen argonaut,
A castaway in coral sea,—
      Such a tommyrot!

And so with unction I conceive
      Invention wild and new,
Until I`m coming to believe
      My taradiddles true . . .
Is it because I`m old and sage, 
      I draw a bow that`s risky?
Or can it be—that lies with age
      Improve like whisky?
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