Poor Kid
Robert William Service
Mumsie and Dad are raven dark And I am lily blonde. ‘’Tis strange,’ I once heard nurse remark, ‘You do not correspond.’ And yet they claim me as their own, Born of their flesh and bone. To doubt their parenthood I dread, But now to girlhood grown, The thought is haunting in my head That I am not their own: If so, my radiant bloom of youth Would wither in the truth. ’Twould give me anguish deep to know A fondling babe was I; And that a maid in wedless woe Left me to live or die: I’d rather Mother lied and lied To save my pride. I love them both and they love me; I am their all, they say. Yet though the sweetest home have we, To know I’m theirs I pray. If not, please dear ones, never tell . . . The truth would be of hell.
Next 10 Poems
- Robert William Service : Poor Peter
- Robert William Service : Poor Poet
- Robert William Service : Portent
- Robert William Service : Portrait
- Robert William Service : Post Office Romance
- Robert William Service : Pragmatic
- Robert William Service : Prayer
- Robert William Service : Prelude
- Robert William Service : Premonition
- Robert William Service : Priscilla
Previous 10 Poems
- Robert William Service : Poor Cock Robin
- Robert William Service : Pooch
- Robert William Service : Politeness
- Robert William Service : Poet's Path
- Robert William Service : Poet And Peer
- Robert William Service : Plebeian Plutocrat
- Robert William Service : Playboy
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