Not even birds fear me: they hop a hop aside, and then hop right back to oats strewn about by horse-heads in bags. Not even cats slink away: they come, climb and tear my shins and my calves, my knees and my hand -- safe from retort. Not even you, Dr. Critic, need trouble to wear your gloves when you bring clean surgical tools for removing my growths. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOPE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE YOUNG WARRIOR by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 91 by EDWIN ARNOLD WALT WHITMAN by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) DRAB BONNETS by BERNARD BARTON THE GREAT ELM by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES AUTUMN by JENNIE COPPOCK CAFFREY TO BEN JONSON; UPON OCCASION OF HIS ODE OF DEFIANCE ... by THOMAS CAREW |