I wonder how long it has been Since this old calendar hung here, With my birthday date upon it, Nothing else -- not a word of writing -- Not a mark of any hand. Perhaps it was my father Who left it thus For me to see. Perhaps my mother Smiled as she saw it; But in later years did not smile. If I could tear it down, From the wall Somehow I would be content. But I am afraid, as a little child, to touch it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DAY: MORNING by JOHN CUNNINGHAM WINTER WITH THE GULF STREAM by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THERE IS NO DEATH by JOHN LUCKEY MCCREERY THE LOST CHORD by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON [APRIL 6, 1862] by KATE BROWNLEE SHERWOOD THE HARLOT'S HOUSE by OSCAR WILDE A TRIBUTE TO DAD by CLARA MCKEE BEEDE |