He rises from his chair, unkinks his back -- Much harder work to sit and read than plow: The weekly paper read, and almanac -- Goes to the window, peering out, marks how For flakes he scarce can see beyond the pane; Computes their benefit to harvest yields -- Commensurate with snowfall, stands of grain -- Envisions gold in place of silver fields. Returning to the hearth, he banks the fire; Yawns hugely, dumps the white cat in the shed; The kitchen clock strikes ten: time to retire. An hour ago his wife had gone to bed. He lays his lean length by her buxom form, Drifts into slumber, glad the sheets are warm. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A REPUBLIC! by EDGAR LEE MASTERS AFTER DEATH by FRANCES ISABEL PARNELL MARIA MINOR by MARGARET AVISON ON PLOUGHING by EVELYN D. BANGAY MARE AMORIS by GAMALIEL BRADFORD THE BATTLE OF CHARLESTOWN by HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL |