Robert Kirkland Kernighan

(25 April 1854 – 3 November 1926 / Ontario)

Robert Kirkland Kernighan Poems

81. Sleigh Bells Long Ago 5/14/2012
82. The Aster 5/14/2012
83. Little All Right's Christmas 5/14/2012
84. By The Groundhog 5/14/2012
85. The Sheep-Killing Dog 5/14/2012
86. The Bullfrog 5/14/2012
87. Glory Hallelujerum Jones 5/14/2012
88. The Popular Thing To Do 5/14/2012
89. Keep Your Mouth Shet 5/14/2012
90. Holding The Reins 5/14/2012
91. You'Re A Fool To Get Rejected 5/14/2012
92. When It's Very, Very Cold 5/14/2012
93. South Land And North Land 5/14/2012
94. Her Pretty Print Dress 5/14/2012
95. Lady Lilac 5/14/2012
96. Mick's Baby 5/14/2012
97. The Veterans Of '66 5/14/2012
98. My Window Pane 5/14/2012
99. Tola Mahone 5/14/2012
100. Hustle! 5/14/2012
101. The Singer Of Heaven 5/14/2012
102. Our Song 5/14/2012
103. The Orchard By The Barn 5/14/2012
104. The Old Nest 5/14/2012
105. The Death Of Murderer 5/14/2012
106. The Golden West 5/14/2012
107. The Youthful Banker 5/14/2012
108. Saturday Night 5/14/2012
109. How Jim Got Religion 5/14/2012
110. Up The Moonlit Road Came She 5/14/2012
111. Too Much Liberty 5/18/2012
112. The Blue Ribbon Did It 5/18/2012
113. These Autumnal Days 5/18/2012
114. Something To Do 5/18/2012
115. The Shantyman's Fate. 5/18/2012
116. She Takes The Cake 5/18/2012
117. Kiss Me Papa 5/18/2012
118. The Canadian Lullaby 5/18/2012
119. The Loving Leaves 5/18/2012
120. The Razzle Dazzle 5/18/2012
Best Poem of Robert Kirkland Kernighan

Chickens Come Home To Roost

The world is wide and the faithful tide

Returns to the welcome sands ;
It 's often true that the work we do

Conies back to its maker's hands.
And every man knows the wondrous plan

By creation introduced :
Be it soon or late, at a certain date,

The chickens come home to roost.

JBe careful, then, ye sons of men,

What reckless words ye say ;
Be they good or ill, your sayings will

On your threshold stand some day.
You 'll bear the blame, for all the shame

Was by your lips produced ;
You 'll know it then, and ...

Read the full of Chickens Come Home To Roost

The Khan's Canticles

Above the sparkling pebbles rang.

Ah, they were Indians old and grey,
Robed in the skins of bear and coon

That they had slain in days of yore
When hunting on the Waubigoon.

' Alas ! We '11 hunt no more, no more,'

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