The Yukoner

Robert William Service

 Next Poem          

He burned a hole in frozen muck,
He pierced the icy mould,
And there in six-foot dirt he struck
A sack or so of gold.

He burned holes in the Decalogue,
And then it came about,
For Fortune's just a lousy rogue,
His "pocket" petered out.

And lo! 'twas but a year all told,
When there in a shadow grim,
In six feet deep of icy mould
They burned a hole for him.

Next Poem 

 Back to Robert William Service

To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.