Classic and Contemporary Poetry
BINDLESTIFF, by EDWIN FORD PIPER First Line: Oh, the lives of men, lives of men Last Line: And remember mary's son. | ||||||||
Oh, the lives of men, lives of men, In pattern-molds be run; But there's you, and me, and Bindlestiff -- And remember Mary's Son. At dawn the hedges and the wheel-ruts ran Into a brightening sky. The grass bent low With shimmering dew, and many a late wild rose Unrolled the petals from its odorous heart While birds held tuneful gossip. Suddenly, Each bubbling trill and whistle hid away As from a hawk; the fragrant silence heard Only the loving stir of little leaves; Then a man's baritone broke roughly in: I've' gnawed my crust of mouldy bread, Skimmed my mulligan stew; Laid beneath the barren hedge -- Sleety night-winds blew. Slanting rain chills my bones, Sun bakes my skin; Rocky road for my limping feet, Door where I can't go in. Above the hedgerow floated filmy smoke From the hidden singer's fire. Once more the voice: I used to burn the mules with the whip When I worked on the grading gang; But the boss was a crook, and he docked my pay -- Some day that boss will hang. I used to live in a six by nine, Try to save my dough -- It's a bellful of the chaff of life, Feet that up and go. The mesh of leafy branches rustled loud, Into the road slid Bindlestiff. You've seen The like of the traveller: gaunt humanity In stained and broken coat, with untrimmed hedge Of rusty beard and curling sunburnt hair; His hat, once white, a dull uncertain cone; His leathery hands and cheeks, his bright blue eyes That always see new faces and strange dogs; His mouth that laughs at life and at himself. Sometimes they shut you up in jail -- Dark, and a filthy cell; I hope the fellows built them jails Find 'em down in hell. But up above, you can sleep outdoors -- Feed you like a king; You' never have to saw no wood, Only job is sing. The tones came mellower, as unevenly The tramp limped off trailing the hobo song: Good-bye, farewell to Omaha, K. C., and Denver, too; Put my foot on the flying freight, Going to ride her through. Bindlestiff topped a hillock, against the sky Showed stick and bundle with his extra shoes Jauntily dangling. Bird to bird once more Made low sweet answer; in the wild rose cups The bee found yellow meal; all softly moved The white and purple morning-glory bells As on the gently rustling hedgetop leaves The sun's face rested. Bindlestiff was gone. Oh, the lives of men, lives of men, In pattern-molds be run; But there's you, and me, and Bindlestiff -- And remember Mary's Son. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GEE-UP DAR, MULES by EDWIN FORD PIPER HAVE YOU AN EYE by EDWIN FORD PIPER MOON-WORSHIP by EDWIN FORD PIPER POSTSCRIPT by EDWIN FORD PIPER ROAD AND PATH by EDWIN FORD PIPER THE BANDED by EDWIN FORD PIPER THE BOY ON THE PRAIRIE by EDWIN FORD PIPER |
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