Convicts Love Canaries
Dick’s dead! It was the Polack guard
Put powdered glass into his cage
When I was tramping round the yard,—
I could have killed him in my rage.
I slugged him with that wrench I stole:
That’s why I’m rotting in the Hole.
Dick’s dead! Sure I wish I was too.
His honey breast, his lacy claws
I kissed and cried, for well I knew
They murdered him. I cursed because
He was my only chum on earth . . .
Oh how he cheered me with his mirth!
Dick’s dead! I know he cared for me.
Being I’m Irish I love song,
And there was heaven in his glee;
I’d bless his heart the dour day long.
I’d let him flutter round the cell;
He’d light upon my hand . . . Oh hell!
Dick’s dead! They’ve thrown me in the Hole.
To break our spirits how they try!
My bed a plank, blind as a mole,
Sure I’ll be nuts before I die . . .
Here in the night, dark as the Pit
I’m seeing sunny wings aflit.
Here in the silence, hark his song!
—Poor Dick! Oh Christ, how long, how long!
Other works by Robert W. Service...
