Robert William Service
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 cam 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.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Yukoner 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
- Mechanical Love, Bijay Kant Dubey
- Life on the edge, Stephen Brian Brady
- The Miracle in a Poem, Sandra Feldman
- Angels Come (Haiku), Sambanath Denis
- love for jezebel, ademola oluwabusayo
- Process Of Imagination, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Growing Older, Kyle Schlicher
- Smoking Euthanasia, Dexsta Ray
- pitter patter pong, lee fones
- Slice Of Heaven, RoseAnn V. Shawiak