His car was worth a thousand pounds and more, A tall and glossy black silk hat he wore; His clothes were pressed, like pretty leaves, when they Are found in Bibles closed for many a day; Until the birds I love dropped something that – As white as milk, but thick as any cream – Went pit, pit, pat! Right on his lovely hat! Lead this unhappy poet to his car – Where is his longing now, where his desire? When left alone, I'll ride him to his grave, On my own little horse of wind and fire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO KNOW IN REVERIE THE ONLY PHENOMENOLOGY OF THE ABSOLUTE by HAYDEN CARRUTH ALL FOOLS' CALENDER by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON THE LIFE SO SHORT by EAMON GRENNAN STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 3. WASHINGTON, D.C. by CLARENCE MAJOR |