[@3They picked him up in the grass where he had lain two days in the rain with a piece of shrapnel in his lungs.@1] COME to me only with playthings now . . . A picture of a singing woman with blue eyes Standing at a fence of hollyhocks, poppies and sunflowers . . . Or an old man I remember sitting with children telling stories Of days that never happened anywhere in the world . . . No more iron cold and real to handle, Shaped for a drive straight ahead. Bring me only beautiful useless things. Only old home things touched at sunset in the quiet . . . And at the window one day in summer Yellow of the new crock of butter Stood against the red of new climbing roses . . . And the world was all playthings. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHARLOTTE CORDAY (REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL, JULY 17, 1793) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE FLIRT by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES UNGRATEFULNESS by GEORGE HERBERT CHAUCER; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE SETTLER: AMERICA IN THE MAKING by ALFRED BILLINGS STREET WHITE FOR MOURNING by AL-FATA AL-KAFIF |