Bill Cosgriff was many good things, but a poet he was not. That's why I have always been impressed by his taste in poetry. First, that he'd have any taste for it at all. Second, and I suppose this is rather unsurprising, his favorite poem was tongue in cheek.
The Cremation of Sam McGee was the one poem which tickled him so much that he'd actually committed it to memory. If you have not guessed or googled it by now, you know that I borrowed the opening line of this here blog from the first line of the first stanza of that epic. It is indeed an intriguing lead-in, exactly the sort of thing which would entice a body to read on. Taken with the poem as a whole, I can see why Dad liked it.
The short, short story is that a guy cremated his friend Sam McGee. Look it up and read it: The Cremation of Sam McGee, if you would like to hear more. I'll content myself now with hearing in me mind me own Pops voice read it as I type,
"The Northern lights have seen queer sights, but the queerest they ever did see,
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge, I cremated Sam McGee."
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