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Poem by Robert William Service
'Why did the lady in the lift Slap that poor parson's face?' Said Mother, thinking as she sniffed, Of clerical disgrace. Said Sonny Boy: 'Alas, I know. My conscience doth accuse me; The lady stood upon my toe, Yet did not say--"Excuse me!" 'She hurt--and in that crowd confined I scarcely could endure it; So when I pinched her fat behind She thought--it was the Curate.'
Robert William Service
Robert William Service's other poems:
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