At the end of the row
I stepped on the toe
Of an unemployed hoe.
It rose in offense
And struck me a blow
In the seat of my sense.
It wasn’t to blame
But I called it a name.
And I must say it dealt
Me a blow that I felt
Like a malice prepense.
You may call me a fool,
But was there a rule
The weapon should be
Turned into a tool?
And what do we see?
The first tool I step on
Turned into a weapon.
Similar Posts
After Apple Picking – Poem by Robert Frost
My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a treeToward heaven still.And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fillBeside it, and there may be two or threeApples I didn’t pick upon some bough.But I am done with apple-picking now.Essence of winter sleep is on the night,The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.I cannot shake the shimmer…
Range-Finding – Poem by Robert Frost
The battle rent a cobweb diamond-strungAnd cut a flower beside a ground bird’s nestBefore it stained a single human breast.The stricken flower bent double and so hung.And still the bird revisited her young.A butterfly its fall had dispossessedA moment sought in air his flower of rest,Then lightly stooped to it and fluttering clung. On the…
Sonnet 135: Whoever Hath Her Wish, Thou Hast Thy Will by William Shakespeare
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will,And Will to boot, and Will in overplus;More than enough am I that vex thee still,To thy sweet will making addition thus.Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?Shall will in others seem right gracious,And in my will no fair…
Sonnets Xxx: When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought by William Shakespeare
When to the sessions of sweet silent thoughtI summon up remembrance of things past,I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:Then can I drown an eye, unus’d to flow,For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,And moan…
The Hill Wife – Poem by Robert Frost
It was too lonely for her there,And too wild,And since there were but two of them,And no child. And work was little in the house,She was free,And followed where he furrowed field,Or felled log. She rested on a log and tossedThe fresh chips,With a song only to herselfOn her lips. And once she went to…
Who Says Words With My Mouth?
All day I think about it, then at night I say it.Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?I have no idea.My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that,and I intend to end up there. This drunkenness began in some other tavern.When I get back around to that place,I’ll…