Dirty and dull, she plods along the street With sagging skirts and hair tucked out of sight. Her pappoose, from his creaking cab, looks out Upon the hurrying crowd; his eyes, wild, bright, Hold tales of campfire dreams, of forest things, Of bending pines that whisper all the night. He cries a bit. The mother stills his cries With sticky colored candy, smooths his clothes. She peers for bargains as she passes by And stops before the moving-picture shows. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GHOSTS OF THE OLD YEAR by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON VARIATIONS ON A THEME: ROMANCE by EDITH SITWELL THE MOUSE by ELIZABETH JANE COATSWORTH THE ANNIVERSARY [ANNIVERSARIE] by JOHN DONNE AN ODE IN IMITATION OF ALCAEUS by WILLIAM JONES ODE ON A GRECIAN URN by JOHN KEATS THE TRAIL OF NINETY-EIGHT by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE |