Cicely Fox Smith

(1 February 1882 – 8 April 1954 / Lymm, Cheshire)

Jim - Poem by Cicely Fox Smith

Jim's done
Pretty near everything under the sun;
Fact, the job is to find the one
Jim's not done.

He's been a tipster, he's been a tramp,
He's been a cook in a lumber camp,
He's been a clerk, he's been a waiter,
He's walked on in a 'Frisco theayter,
He's punched cows, he's herded sheep,
He's had poultry and pigs to keep,
Busted broncos too, has Jim.
But the blamed things took and busted him!

He's dug for silver, he's dug for gold,
In places hot and places cold
From Yukon River to Broken Hill,
He's tried for rubies in Brazil,
And had a shot at some treasure hid
On Cocos Island by Captain Kidd.
You might say, mining's quite a whim with Jim.

Jim says
He don't intend to end his days
Breaking of his blinking back
At pullyhaul like a blooming black
To make a darned shipowner fat:
He knows a trick worth two o' that,
Easy money's the game for him -
Says Jim.

So off he hikes to make his pile:
But one fine morning after a while
Back 'll come, with a long heart-breaking
Yarn of the fortune he's just missed making,
Broke to the wide, without a dollar,
In a ragged shirt and a paper collar,
And a busted bowler without a brim -

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Poem Submitted: Monday, August 30, 2010

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