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Robert W Service - Old CodgerRobert W Service - Old Codger
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Of garden truck he made his fare,     As his bright eyes bore witness; Health was his habit and his care,     His hobby human fitness. He sang the praise of open sky,     The gladth of Nature`s giving; And when at last he came to die     It was of too long living. He held aloof from hate and strife,     Drank peace in dreamful doses; He never voted in his life,     Loved children, dogs and roses. Let tyrants romp in gory glee,     And revolutions roister, He passed his days as peacefully     As friar in a cloister. So fellow sinners, should you choose     Of doom to be a dodger, At eighty be a bland recluse     Like this serene old codger, Who turned his back on fear and fret,     And died nigh eighty-seven . . . His name was—Robert Service: let     Us hope he went to Heaven
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