Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, OWED' TO MY POCKET-BOOK, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

OWED' TO MY POCKET-BOOK, by                    
First Line: "how fair thou art, o little book"
Last Line: Will carry all my money
Subject(s): Books;money;russia; Reading;soviet Union;russians


How fair thou art, O little book
Of scented Russia leather!
With stitches fanciful and fine
To hold you well together;
But stitches strong are useless all,
There is no strain upon thee;
The great brogan of poverty
Is very heavy on thee.

What endless room is here for bills
Of large denominations,
With checks and bonds a goodly store --
Ah, vain imaginations!
The hungriest pocket-book thou art
That ever in a highway
Was picked up by a well-fooled man
And cast into a by-way.

Consumption settled on thy form
Till you cannot grow thinner;
In vain you plead with open mouth
Of me a greenback dinner.
'T is very sad thou couldst not stand
The drain upon thy system;
I never knew what dollars were
United I wholly missed them.

I'm safe to say that there's more cash
Outside of thee than in thee;
I'd stake thee on some risky bet,
Nor care much who would win thee.
I look at thee and nothing see, --
They say you can't see nothing;
Yet here it's very palpable --
In sooth, not very soothing.

Should some highwayman thee demand,
I'd gladly give thee to him;
'T would lead him into suicide,
Or monstrously undo him.
Sad pocket-book! I feel for thee,
But not as in days sunny;
Henceforth the pocket of my vest
Will carry all my money.





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