THE morning finds him with a thousand friends, Most of them foes before the evening ends— They flatter him—they tell him he is great— And then they say he ought to get the gate! Changed sentiments—because, with nerves of brass, Each one of them was mooching for a pass— If he could give free tickets to each one Who asks the same 'twixt noon and setting sun, The ballpark would be crowded to the top, Not one paid ticket in the whole blamed shop— Each fight club would be simply overjammed, No money paid to see the warriors slammed— The racetrack would be seething to the gates, Packed to the rail with all the mooching skates— But he can't do it on what drag he has, So they all squawk and hand the scribe the razz! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HATCHING; FOR DAW AUNG SAN SUU KYI by KAREN SWENSON PEACE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THANKSGIVING DAY by LYDIA MARIA CHILD THE CHARGE AT SANTIAGO by WILLIAM HAMILTON HAYNE THE BLOOD HORSE by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER UNDERWOODS: BOOK 1: 38 by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |