The Sceptic, by Robert Service

[chaletian]

I bought my grandmother a book of Robert Service poetry recently (well, actually I bought it last summer; I *gave* it to her recently), Rhymes on a Rolling Stone (or something like that). We were flicking through it whilst woeing over the damp in one of the spare rooms, and found this work of genius. I thought I'd share.

The Sceptic

My Father Christmas passed away
When I was barely seven.
At twenty-one, alack-a-day,
I lost my hope of heaven.

Yet not in either lies the curse:
The hell of it’s because
I don’t know which loss hurt the worse –
My God or Santa Claus.

~ Robert Service

Comments

[ungratefulwench.livejournal.com]

I'm not one for poetry of any type, really, but I do quite like this. A question definitely worth pondering.

(I think, for me, it was probably Santa.)