THE doctor says that pies are harmful, I must eat them no more; and that is why they seem so charmful I'd like to eat a score. Before me there are wholesome vittles that I may safely try; I'll have of them no jots or tittles, my system shrieks for pie. I didn't much enjoy my smoking until the doctor came, informing me I'd soon be croaking unless I quit the same. Then fascinating and enchanting seemed my old pipe of oak, and here I'm sitting, yearning, panting, for something I can smoke. Last winter, when the boys were skating—a sport of which I'm fond—I, too, began absquatulating along the village pond. The boys all said I was a winner, for fluent legs are mine, until I saw, where ice was thinner, a big square "Danger" sign. I skated up to see it closer—you should have seen me sink! It took two blacksmiths and a grocer to drag me from the drink. Who cares a kopeck for a warning? Man to his doom inclines because he takes a pride in scorning all sorts of danger signs. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE THAW by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND [NOVEMBER 19, 1620] by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS LAYS OF FRANCE: SONG (2) by MARIE DE FRANCE BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER by WALLACE RICE UNDERWOODS: BOOK 2: 6. THE SPAEWIFE by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |