The preacher's voice droned on and on -- My restless eyes were watching her; She seemed athirst for platitudes And made a patient listener Who sat and did not stir. Her hands were red and kitchen-scarred: "The world is for the low and meek," I heard the stumbling parson say And then a feeble wave of red Went creeping up her cheek. "The humble they inherit all -- Theirs be the cattle and the lands:" She drank the hollow, booming words -- Between my stifled yawns I watched Her gemless, withered hands. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WHITE WITCH by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE BODY BREAKING by MARVIN BELL A MAN'S VOCATION IS NOBODY'S BUSINESS by JAMES GALVIN INEVITABLY (2) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOMESDAY BOOK: GEORGE JOSLIN ON LA MENKEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |