The Lord employed a quaint disguise To clothe a worth He deifies, When, after haunting us for weeks With that fat wench whose flat foot squeaks The tortured boards out on the floor Beneath the keyhole to our door; Whose heartless, calloused, upturned hand Repeats its ornery demand For rent; whose curt, concise replies To all our fragile, whitened lies About the burn, the noise, the scratch, Are always victor in the match -- This round misprison of His way He sent to our lean flat today -- God only knows the reason why -- Porting a luscious lemon pie!!! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A HILLSIDE THAW by ROBERT FROST 1914: 5. THE SOLDIER by RUPERT BROOKE REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE, NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY BOOKS by WILLIAM COWPER NATALITIUM: MARTIJ 13, 1645 by JOSEPH BEAUMONT PARODY OF A SHROPSHIRE LAD by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM |