Tribute to Robert W. Service

Tribute to Robert W. Service

With pen in hand this Scottish man, left home for the mountains wild;
And upon the slopes with kindred hopes no more a lonesome child.
Tho they deride, still he eyed the gold fields with golden blooms,
With Chewed-ear and Guinneyveer and the Ballad of Lenin's Tomb.
Blasphemous Bill lay stiff and still, a once gutsy kind of man;
The contract signed, for Bill enshrined, it was a dastardly plan.
With valleys to leap, mountains steep, he penned the Northern Lights,
And latent words, tales unheard, poured from his pen through the night.
He'd cull the bad, drink till mad, my God! What poetry he did pen!
Though I knew him not, I like him a lot, and consider him my friend.


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Words required to be used by "Para/Poem Challenge "Open""  in this poem:
         Kindred...Latent...Deride...Steep...Cull...Gutsy