A week ago I had a fire, To warm my feet, my hands and face; Cold winds, that never make a friend, Crept in and out of every place. To-day, the fields are rich in grass, And buttercups in thousands grow; I'll show the World where I have been — With gold-dust seen on either shoe. Till to my garden back I come, Where bumble-bees, for hours and hours, Sit on their soft, fat, velvet bums, To wriggle out of hollow flowers. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WORLD AS WILL AND REPRESENTATION' by HAYDEN CARRUTH SYMPATHY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE RIVALS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON DISMAL MOMENT PASSING by CLARENCE MAJOR SONG OF THE OPEN COUNTRY by DOROTHY PARKER |