Robert Kirkland Kernighan

(25 April 1854 – 3 November 1926 / Ontario)

A Trooly Good Man - Poem by Robert Kirkland Kernighan

He never swears, he never smokes,
He looks not on the wine ;
He never laughs, he never jokes,
He goes to bed at nine ;
But, O, the horse he sold to me,

And guaranteed him sound,
Upon his hinder legs, alas !

Some spavins I have found.

He in the Amen corner sits

On Sundays all alone,
And when the preacher shakes the tongs

He '11 look around and groan ;



52 THE KHAN'S CANTICLES.

He cries, ' O, Lord, I have no lot
With publicans and thieves ; '

But, O, the horse he sold to me
Is troubled with the heaves.

That man will never eat a bite

Until he shades his face
Regardless of his appetite,

He sadly says a grace ;
But, O, that horse he sold to me,

And guaranteed superb,
I fear upon his leg he has

A well developed curb.

He has n't got a single tooth

To chew his chop and bran ;
Now, was n't that a trick, forsooth,

To play upon the Khan?
But when that man turns up his toes

And gains that awful place,
That foundered nag, his worst of woes,

Will stare him in the face.

And that is just the reason I

Look down upon him so ;
It strikes me he 's a hypocrite

A reg'lar crook, altho'
He never swears, he never smokes,

He looks not on the wine :
He never laughs, he never jokes,

And goes to bed at nine.


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Poem Edited: Wednesday, May 9, 2012


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