IN the newspaper office -- who are the spooks? Who wears the mythic coat invisible? Who pussyfoots from desk to desk with a speaking forefinger? Who gumshoes amid the copy paper with a whispering thumb? Speak softly -- the sacred cows may hear. Speak easy -- the sacred cows must be fed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SAVING WAY by HAYDEN CARRUTH FRAGMENTARY BLUE by ROBERT FROST THE SACHEM OF THE CLOUDS (A THANKSGIVING LEGEND) by ROBERT FROST SURFACES AND MASKS; 7 by CLARENCE MAJOR FOR THE NEW YEAR by EDWIN MARKHAM A FOOL, A FOUL THING, A DISTRESSFUL LUNATIC by MARIANNE MOORE |