I wonder how long it has been Since this old calendar hung here, With my birthday date upon it, Nothing else -- not a word of writing -- Not a mark of any hand. Perhaps it was my father Who left it thus For me to see. Perhaps my mother Smiled as she saw it; But in later years did not smile. If I could tear it down, From the wall Somehow I would be content. But I am afraid, as a little child, to touch it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVELIGHT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ON THE BUST OF HELEN BY CANOVA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON MY MOTHER by WILLIAM BELL SCOTT THE OPTIMIST AND THE PESSIMIST; A DIALOGUE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE IVY; ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG FRIEND by BERNARD BARTON URANIA; THE WOMAN IN THE MOON: THE THIRD CANTO, OR FULL MOON by WILLIAM BASSE THE OLD LINE FENCE by AMERICUS WELLINGTON BELLAW BODY AND SOUL: A METAPHYSICAL ARGUMENT by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |