WHEN I was working on a farm, and brandished, with my strong right arm, the muzzle-loading hoe, I said, "I'm tired of such a grind; some softer snap I'll have to find, and to the town I'll go." I got a job in Stucker's store, and there I worked three months or more, and still was short of bliss; and so I muttered, with a sob, "I'll have to hunt another job—there is no fun in this." I wrote insurance for a while, and, as I walked mile after mile, to rope some "prospect" in, I said, "I'm weary of this stunt; some other graft I'll have to hunt, at which a man may win." I got a job at grooming swine, and found it wasn't very fine, nor what I had desired; and so I raised my voice and swore, as I had often sworn before, "This labor makes me tired." I never found a job I liked; from every form of toil I hiked, until I broke my tugs; that's why they're taking me today out to the poorhouse, far away, where paupers swat the bugs. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THAT KIND OF POEM' by KAREN SWENSON RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE FIRESIDE by NATHANIEL COTTON OF MAN'S MORTALITY by SIMON WASTELL A LULLABY by THOMALLY HOLBECH ANDERSON GOOD FRYDAY by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |