Seated one day at a table, I was having forty fits, As my fingers hovered nervously Over those jig-sawed bits. I know not what I was hunting To finish a soldier's face; But I struck one queer-shaped fragment That fitted that queer-shaped space. It linked all those silly features Into one solid man; And as I had finished his shoulder, I began to see the plan. It helped with the background also, A sort of guide it made; But I moved some other pieces, And somehow it got mislaid! I sought, but I sought it vainly, That one small piece so queer, That out of a hundred others Fitted that soldier's ear. I couldn't go on without it, I fretted and fumed and fussed; Then -- somebody joggled my elbow! And I gave up in disgust. It may be that some time or other I will try that thing again; But not till I'm in an asylum, -- And I doubt if I do it then! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CONTRETEMPS by THOMAS HARDY COMPANY COMMANDER by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE OF BENEVOLENCE: AN EPISTLE TO EUMENES by JOHN ARMSTRONG THE MAID VAR MY BRIDE by WILLIAM BARNES THE PATIENT WAYS by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE A PRAIRIE MOTHER'S LULLABY by EARL ALONZO BRININSTOOL |