(Dedicated to Grif Alexander, in honor of a barrel that came from Green Holly Creek, Patuxent River, Maryland.) TO tell the truth, I really never knew What oysters were, until, one night this week, A barrel came up from Green Holly Creek And Grif set up a supper for the crew. First, on the shell, most glorious to view, Their little sacks, distent and soft and sleek, Dribbled with acid lemon-juice, and eke Bill's home-made ketchup. . . . And then came the stew! A stew, I say, since rhyme must needs be sung, Though, to be factual, the 'valves were panned -- And then, the Colonel's gorgeous bowl of punch. O zesty broth, serene upon the tongue, And ginger cookies, baked by Jim's wife's hand, The night Grif broached that barrel for the bunch! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: SARAH BROWN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS FISH-LEAP FALL by ROBERT FROST TO BE LIKED BY YOU WOULD BE A CALAMITY by MARIANNE MOORE THE CONFLICT by CECIL DAY LEWIS ODE ON THE SPRING by THOMAS GRAY VIRTUE [OR, VERTUE] by GEORGE HERBERT |