My father could not make a poem, But setting his course by yonder pine Straight and true he plowed a line Across the field. My father could not Juggle words -- but with the sheen Of cotton leafing in the sun He made a poem in living green. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HIS CONTENT IN THE COUNTRY by ROBERT HERRICK A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT by THOMAS PARNELL IMPROMPTU TO LADY WINCHILSEA by ALEXANDER POPE CURFEW MUST NOT RING TONIGHT by ROSE HARTWICK THORPE TO A YOUNG MAN ON THE PLATFORM OF A SUBWAY EXPRESS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS A RECEIPT FOR WRITING A NOVEL by MARY (CUMBERLAND) ALCOCK THE CLOUDS: THE OLD EDUCATION by ARISTOPHANES DAWN ON THE HILLS (FROM A HOTEL WINDOW) by LILLIAN ATCHERSON |