I KNOW a man (accounted wise) Who thinks himself an ancient make Of musket. Breakfast food supplies His powder, and a Hamburg steak The bullet, while a flannel-cake Acts as the wadding. Then away He shoots for all that fighting day; Shoots to his car, shoots to his work, Shoots here, shoots there, Shoots everywhere A dollar may be thought to lurk; Shoots out to luncheon, shoots to drink, Shoots home at night, too tired to think, Shoots through the news, and, spent at last, Drops, thankful that the day is past. For all this stress from dawn to sleep He gets his victuals, clothes, and keep. Ho! Ho! A foolish man is he. (And very much like you and me.) | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MOTHER'S HOPE by SAMUEL LAMAN BLANCHARD THE DYING WORDS OF STONEWALL JACKSON by SIDNEY LANIER THE MOWER TO THE GLOW-WORMS by ANDREW MARVELL ODE TO THE MAGUIRE by EOCHADH O'HUSSEY |