Robert William Service
Grand-Pa's Whim - Poem by Robert William Service
While for me gapes the greedy grave
It don't make sense
That I should have a crazy crave
To paint our fence.
Yet that is what I aim to do,
Though dim my sight:
Jest paint them aged pickets blue,
Or green or white.
Jest squat serenely in the sun
Wi' brush an' paint,
An' gay them pickets one by one,
--A chore! It ain't.
The job is joy. Although I'm slow
I save expense:
So folks, let me before I go,
Smart that ol' fence.
Them pickets with my hands I made,
When young and spry;
I coloured them a gleeful shade
To glad the eye.
So now as chirpy as a boy,
'Ere I go hence,
Once more let me jest bright to joy
Our picket fence.
Comments about Grand-Pa's Whim by Robert William Service
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- TelevisionRoald Dahl
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda