IT makes Poor Father's spirit sad, when he comes home at night, to hear the kitchen stove's so bad, the fire won't stay alight. To hear of forty thousand traps he really ought to buy, although he's so in debt, perhaps, the knowledge makes him cry. His daughters say it's a disgrace the duds they have to wear; "ashamed to travel any place, we surely are," they swear. The housewife says the parlor rugs are worth as many derns; she needs new vases and new jugs, in which to keep her ferns. New chairs, new dishes and new spoons are all in great demand; the cook is running out of prunes, and has no lard on hand. What wonder Father's tired and pale? He can't sit down to read, for he must hear the endless tale of "things we really need." What wonder if he feels relief, when age comes on apace, and knows that from this world of grief he pretty soon will chase? He sighs, when o'er the sunless sea he's ready to take wing, "Oh, grave, where is thy victory, oh, death, where is thy sting?" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MIMNERMUS IN CHURCH by WILLIAM JOHNSON CORY THE BLUE-FLAG IN THE BOG by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE BABES IN THE WOOD; OR, THE NORFOLK TRAGEDY by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM MERCY PLEADS by LUCRETIA STOUT BELLOWS HODGE by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES |