Robert William Service
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.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Florrie by Robert William Service )
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
- Heather Burns
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(22 March 1941 -)