A Poor Excuse, but our own
Franklin P. Adams 1881 (Chicago, Illinois) – 1960 (New York City, New York)
(Why don't you ever write any child poetry?
-A MOTHER.)
My right-hand neighbour hath a child,
A pretty child of five or six,
Not more than other children wild,
Nor fuller than the rest of tricks-
At five he rises, shine or rain,
And noisily plays 'fire' or 'train.'
Likewise a girl, _aetatis_ eight,
He hath. Each morning, as a rule,
Proudly my neighbour will relate
How bright Mathilda is at school.
My ardour, less than half of mild,
Bids me to comment, 'Wondrous child!'
All through the vernal afternoon
My other neighbour's children skate
A wild Bacchantic rigadoon
On rollers; nor does it abate
Till dark; and then his babies cry
What time I fain would versify.
Did I but set myself to sing
A children's song, I'd stand revealed
A bard that did the infant thing
As well as Riley or 'Gene Field.
I could write famous Children Stuff,
If they'd keep quiet long enough.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 49 sec read
- 93 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | XX ABABCC DEDEAA XDCDXF GHGHFF |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 871 |
Words | 162 |
Stanzas | 5 |
Stanza Lengths | 2, 6, 6, 6, 6 |
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