Flower Gardener
Gas got me in the first World War, And all my mates at rest are laid. I felt I might survive them for I am a gardener by trade. My life is in the
Epitaph
No matter how he toil and strive The fate of every man alive With luck will be to lie alone, His empty name cut in a stone. Grim time the fairest fame will flout,
Courage
In the shadow of the grave I will be brave; I’ll smile, I know I will E’er I be still; Because I will not smile So long a while. But I’ll be sad, I
God's Skallywags
The God of Scribes looked down and saw The bitter band of seven, Who had outraged his holy law And lost their hope of Heaven: Came Villon, petty thief and pimp, And obscene Baudelaire,
Two Husbands
Unpenitent, I grieve to state, Two good men stood by heaven’s gate, Saint Peter coming to await. The stopped the Keeper of the Keys, Saying: “What suppliants are these, Who wait me not on
The Philanderer
Oh, have you forgotten those afternoons With riot of roses and amber skies, When we thrilled to the joy of a million Junes, And I sought for your soul in the deeps of your
Privacy
Oh you who are shy of the popular eye, (Though most of us seek to survive it) Just think of the goldfish who wanted to die Because she could never be private. There are
The Passing Of The Year
My glass is filled, my pipe is lit, My den is all a cosy glow; And snug before the fire I sit, And wait to feel the old year go. I dedicate to solemn
Frustration
Gazing to gold seraph wing, With wistful wonder in my eyes, A blue-behinded ape, I swing Upon the palms of Paradise. A parakeet of gaudy hue Upon a flame tree smugly rocks; Oh, we’re
My Guardian Angel
When looking back I dimly see The trails my feet have trod, Some hand divine, it seems to me, Has pulled the strings with God; Some angel form has lifeward leaned When hope for
The Rhyme Of The Remittance Man
There’s a four-pronged buck a-swinging in the shadow of my cabin, And it roamed the velvet valley till to-day; But I tracked it by the river, and I trailed it in the cover, And
Yellow
One pearly day of early May I strolled upon the sand, And saw, say half-a-mile away A man with gun in hand; A dog was cowering to his will, As slow he sought to
The Auction Sale
Her little head just topped the window-sill; She even mounted on a stool, maybe; She pressed against the pane, as children will, And watched us playing, oh so wistfully! And then I missed her
Lost Kitten
Two men I saw reel from a bar And stumble down the street; Coarse and uncouth as workmen are, They walked with wobbly feet. I watched them, thinking sadly as I heard their hobnails
Spartan Mother
My mother loved her horses and Her hounds of pedigree; She did not kiss the baby hand I held to her in glee. Of course I had a sweet nou-nou Who tended me with