Peace and safety seem to dwell Where my garden grows; I've no moat nor citadel Where I find repose. Yet I dread the sudden yell Of some lurking eager foes! Silence bids me feel secure, As I wander out. Weeds and worms and bugs obscure Are the foes I rout. Yet a premonition sure Warns that redskins are about! Hark! a hoot-owl—'t is the cry Indians used of yore. Stealthy footfalls, creeping nigh, Thrill me to the core. Late! Too late! They've scurried by, Gaining first my open door. Savage redskins, bent on loot, Start with gingerbread; Victors now beyond dispute, They will scalp me dead. @3Indians, if you really shoot, You'll be spanked and sent to bed.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE EXECUTIVE by DAVID IGNATOW INTERRACIAL by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON FOR THE NEW YEAR by EDWIN MARKHAM MANHATTAN, 1609 by EDWIN MARKHAM DOMESDAY BOOK: ANTON SOSNOWSKI by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: TENNESSEE CLAFLIN SHOPE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |