Robert William Service
'Come, see,' said he, 'my four-foot shelf,
A forty volume row;
And every one I wrote myself,
But that, of course, you know.'
I stared, I searched a memory dim,
For though an author too,
Somehow I'd never heard of him,--
None of his books I knew.
Said I: 'I'd like to borrow one,
Fond memories to recall.'
Said he: 'I'll gladly give you some,
And autograph them all.'
And so a dozen books he brought,
And signed tome after tome:
Of course I thanked him quite a lot,
And took them home.
So now I have to read his work,
Though dry as dust it be;
No portion of it may I shirk,
Lest he should question me.
This tale is true,--although it looks
To me a bloody shame,
A guy could father forty books,
yet no one know his name.
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Comments about this poem (Four-Foot Shelf by Robert William Service )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1878 - 3 May 1916)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(1924 - 2000)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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