An Ancient gaffer once I knew, <br />Who puffed a pipe and tossed a tankard; <br />He claimed a hundred years or two, <br />And for a dozen more he hankered; <br />So o’er a pint I asked how he <br />Had kept his timbers tight together; <br />He grinned and answered: “It maun be <br />Because I likes all kinds o’ weather. <br /> <br />“Fore every morn when I get up <br />I lights my clay pipe wi’ a cinder, <br />And as me mug o’ tea I sup <br />I looks from out the cottage winder; <br />And if it’s shade or if it’s shine <br />Or wind or snow befit to freeze me, <br />I always say: ‘Well, now that’s fine... <br />It’s just the sorto’ day to please me.’ <br /> <br />“For I have found it wise in life <br />To take the luck the way it’s coming; <br />A wake, a worry or a wife - <br />Just carry on and keep a-humming. <br />And so I lights me pipe o’ clay, <br />And through the morn on blizzard borders, <br />I chuckle in me guts and say: <br />‘It’s just the day the doctor orders.’” <br /> <br />A mighty good philosophy <br />Thought I, and leads to longer living, <br />To make the best of things that be, <br />And take the weather of God’s giving; <br />So though the sky be ashen grey, <br />And winds be edged and sleet be slanting, <br />Heap faggots on the fire and say: <br />“It’s just the kind of day I’m wanting.”<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/contentment-4/
