If I had a different life to live this would be the foolish one-- to root, hog, sleep and procreate. Always across my mud hole I see the farmer waiting for my size to grow, as he leans close up upon his rake. I do not even want to be the farmer nor the wife whose pig is well done, but the stranger passing by out of curiosity and anxious to get away from the smell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BIRD'S ANGER by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 19. SILENT NOON by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI ROCOCO by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE FLIGHT OF THE WAR-EAGLE by OBADIAH CYRUS AURINGER THE SWALLOWS by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER |