Through eyelet holes I watched the crowd <br />Rain of confetti fling; <br />Their joy is lush, their laughter loud, <br />For Carnival is King. <br />Behind his chariot I pace <br />To ean my petty pay; <br />They laugh to see my monster face: <br />"Ripe Fruit," I hear them say. <br /> <br />I do not laugh: my shoulders sag; <br />No heart have I for glee, <br />Because I hold aloft a hag <br />Who grins enough for me; <br />A hideous harridan who bears <br />In crapulous display, <br />Like two grub-eaten mouldy pears <br />Her bubbies on a tray. <br /> <br />Ripe Fruit! Oh, God! It's hell to think <br />How I have drifted down <br />Through vice and dice and dope and drink <br />To play the sordid clown; <br />That I who held the golden key <br />To operatic fame, <br />Should gnaw the crust of misery <br />And drain the dregs of shame. <br /> <br />What matter! I'll get soused to-night, <br />And happy I will be, <br />To sit within a tavern bright, <br />A trollop on my knee. . . . <br />So let the crazy pipers pipe, <br />And let the rapture ring: <br />Ripe fruit am I - yea, rotten ripe, <br />And Carnival is King.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ripe-fruit/
