[Little Bill]

There was a DJ on WMEX, Boston era, who did a lot of poetry on the Midnight hour he did this one, and many others, it was pretty good.

I first hear this poem and many, many others from my Mother who used to recite poetry to us at nap time when I was a kid.

[andy58-in-nh]

Robert Service is a throwback to the days when men were Men and bears were justifiably nervous (if you can't hit a Grizzly in the eye at 25 yards with a .308 with iron sights in a crosswind, you shouldn't be out there, son). I have two books of his poetry, some of which I have memorized, all of which I have come to love as my father did...

"You know what it's like in the Yukon wild when it's sixty-nine below;
When the ice-worms wriggle their purple heads through the crust of the pale blue snow;
When the pine trees crack like little guns in the silence of the wood,
And the icicles hang down like tusks under the parka hood;
When the stovepipe smoke breaks sudden off, and the sky is weirdly lit,
And the careless feel of a bit of steel burns like a red hot spit..."