THERE was a little guinea-pig, Who, being little, was not big; He always walked upon his feet, And never fasted when he eat. When from a place he ran away, He never at that place did stay; And while he ran, as I am told, He ne'er stood still for young or old. He often squeaked and sometimes vi'lent, And when he squeaked he ne'er was silent; Though ne'er instructed by a cat, He knew a mouse was not a rat. One day, as I am certified, He took a whim and fairly died; And as I'm told by men of sense, He never has been living since. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN THE SPEED COMES by ROBERT FROST I SING OF LOVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DEAF HOUSE AGENT by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: COONEY POTTER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SUNSET FROM OMAHA HOTEL WINDOW by CARL SANDBURG |