There are the Alps. What is there to say about them? They don't make sense. Fatal glaciers, crags cranks climb, jumbled boulder and weed, pasture and boulder, scree, et l'on entend, maybe, le refrain joyeux et leger. Who knows what the ice will have scraped on the rock it is smoothing? There they are, you will have to go a long way round if you want to avoid them. It takes some getting used to. There are the Alps, fools! Sit down and wait for them to crumble! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALIENS (TO YOU - EVERYWHERE! DEDICATED) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE GIFT TO SING by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON HONEY DRIPPER by CLARENCE MAJOR THE STORY OF THE ASHES AND THE FLAME by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON ON A VOLUME OF SCHOLASTIC PHILOSOPHY by GEORGE SANTAYANA |