The Lord employed a quaint disguise To clothe a worth He deifies, When, after haunting us for weeks With that fat wench whose flat foot squeaks The tortured boards out on the floor Beneath the keyhole to our door; Whose heartless, calloused, upturned hand Repeats its ornery demand For rent; whose curt, concise replies To all our fragile, whitened lies About the burn, the noise, the scratch, Are always victor in the match -- This round misprison of His way He sent to our lean flat today -- God only knows the reason why -- Porting a luscious lemon pie!!! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOUND WANTING by EMILY DICKINSON OF A FAIR LADY PLAYING WITH A SNAKE by EDMUND WALLER IMPRESSIONS: LA FUITE DE LA LUNE by OSCAR WILDE NETTED STRAWBERRIES by GORDON BOTTOMLEY TAKE YOUR CHOICE: THEN THERE'S T.A. DALY by BERTON BRALEY PRAESTO by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN TRAGIC FRAGMENT by ROBERT BURNS A SILVER WEDDING: B.F.B.-E.G.B., 1855-1880 by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER |