The harridan who holds the inn <br /> At which I toss a pot, <br />Is old and uglier than sin,-- <br /> I'm glad she knows me not. <br />Indeed, for me it's hard to think, <br /> Although my pow's like snow, <br />She was the lass so fresh and pink <br /> I courted long ago. <br /> <br />I wronged her, yet it's sadly true <br /> She wanted to be wronged: <br />They mostly do, although 'tis you, <br /> The male bloke who is thonged. <br />Well, anyway I left her then <br /> To sail across the sea, <br />And no doubt she had other men, <br /> And soon lost sight of me. <br /> <br />So now she is a paunchy dame <br /> And mistress of the inn, <br />With temper tart and tounge to blame, <br /> Moustache and triple chin. <br />And though I have no proper home <br /> Contentedly I purr, <br />And from my whiskers wipe the foam, <br /> --Glad I did not wed her. <br /> <br />Yet it's so funny sitting here <br /> To stare into her face; <br />And as I raise my mug of beer <br /> I dream of our disgrace. <br />And so I come and come each day <br /> To more and more enjoy <br />The joke--that fifty years away <br /> I was her honey boy.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/old-tom/
