You were stained with the dust of the road When first I saw you; You were strapped with a weary load, Little son, when I bore you. For your father's feet were light On the highway ever; He left one winter's night And comes back never. Your father's eyes were deep With gypsy passion; To lie, and kiss, and sleep, Was not his fashion. Your father's eyes were wild With storm clouds drumming -- You are your father's child And summer's coming. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE FIRE IN THE WOODS by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE BUTCHER SHOP by DAVID IGNATOW LETHE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON PENDULUM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SHALL I SAY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ON A TUFT OF GRASS by EMMA LAZARUS DISMAL MOMENT PASSING by CLARENCE MAJOR |