A pote is sure a goofy guy; <br />He ain't got guts like you or I <br /> To tell the score; <br />He ain't goy gumption 'nuff to know <br />The game of life's to get the dough, <br /> Then get some more. <br />Take Brother Bill, he used to be <br />The big shot of the family, <br /> The first at school; <br />But since about a year ago, <br />Through readin' Longfeller and Poe, <br /> He's most a fool. <br /> <br />He mopes around with dimwit stare; <br />You might as well jest not be there, <br /> The way he looks; <br />You'd think he shuns the human race, <br />The how he buries down his face <br /> In highbrow books. <br />I've seen him stand for near an hour, <br />Jest starin' at a simple flower - <br /> Sich waste o' time; <br />The scribblin' on an envelope . . . <br />Why, most of all his silly dope <br /> Don't even rhyme. <br /> <br />Now Brother's Jim's an engineer, <br />And Brother Tim's a bank cashier, <br /> While I keep store; <br />Yet Bill, the brightest of the flock, <br />Might be a lawyer or a doc, <br /> And then some more. <br />But no, he moons and loafs about, <br />As if he tried to figger out <br /> Why skies are blue; <br />Instead o' gittin' down to grips <br />Wi' life an' stackin' up the chips <br /> Like me an' you. <br /> <br />* * * * * * * * * * <br /> <br />Well, since them final lines I wrote, <br />We're mournin' for our Brother Pote: <br /> Bill crossed the sea <br />And solved his problem with the beat, <br />For now he lies in peace and rest <br /> In Normandie. <br />He died the bravest of the brave, <br />And here I'm standin' by his grave <br /> So far from home; <br />With just a wooden cross to tell <br />How in the blaze of battle hell <br />As gloriously there he fell - <br /> Bill wrote his "pome".<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-pote/
