Why do little boys' pockets With all of their contraband Always hold in the bottom-most fold A fingernail of sand? Sand with the other treasures -- An essence with tangles of toys -- Seems a bit of substantial grit That's part of all little boys. Boys with wings of young wisdom Find moths in their self-spun berth, And seek the root of stalk and fruit Full length on the hard, warm earth. Or press inquisitive noses To clovery timothy land . . . Pigeonholes of little boys' souls Are dusty with golden sand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOW BAROMETER by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 18. THE CHARM by THOMAS CAMPION ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY: THE HYMN by JOHN MILTON I HEARD YOUR SOLEMN-SWEET PIPES by WALT WHITMAN THE DARKNESS OF EGYPT by MARIA ABDY PROMETHEUS BOUND: THE OVERTHROW OF ZEUS by AESCHYLUS |