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.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Four-Foot Shelf by Robert William Service )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- you're tall enough to ride this ride, Mandolyn ...
- Acrostic, Cheryl Griffith
- Heart, Sello Matsepe
- It Feels So Far Away This Evening..., B.. Alexander
- Neophytic Gay-Blade, Richard Thripp
- Rebel, Nassy Fesharaki
- Your Organ Donor Card, Richard Thripp
- Floating Feathers, Ronald Chapman
- I LOOK FOR NEW FACES ابحث عن وجوه جديدة, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- First Date (Secret Message Poem), Ronald Chapman