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Among his books he sits all day
To think and read and write; He does not smell the new-mown hay, The roses red and white. I walk among them all alone, His silly, stupid wife; The world seems tasteless, dead and done - An empty thing is life. At night his window casts a square Of light upon the lawn; I sometimes walk and watch it there Until the chill of dawn. I have no brain to understand The books he loves to read; I only have a heart and hand He does not seem to need. He calls me "Child" - lays on my hair Thin fingers, cold and mild; Oh! God of Love, who answers prayer, I wish I were a child! And no one sees and no one knows (He least would know or see), That ere Love gathers next year's rose Death will have gathered me. Unsatisfied? Search for more:Other Cool Sites:Hot Arts & Stage NewsLyrics Catalogue Sound Tracks Guide Guide to Serials and Shows English Subtitles For DivX Movies Hundreds of Cooking Recipes Over 5000 Cocktails Recipes Cool Online Encyclopedia Cellulars Descriptions and Reviews Algorithms Dictionary Funny Jokes and Anecdotes. Usenet Newsgroups Reader |