|
|
Dublin, 4-10-04 (Prose Poem) by myles
"wear the white trousers",
My mother said.
Which brought to mind
My grandfather, long dead.
He had worn grey plaid,
How then could I wear white?
He knew his own failures,
While I hide from the light.
Still I see the bright pants,
Crisp and warm and clean.
My mother tells me "wear them",
And I know I will give in.
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
| Graph | Votes |
10 |
|
0 | 0 |
9 |
|
0 | 0 |
8 |
|
0 | 1 |
7 |
|
1 | 0 |
6 |
|
0 | 0 |
5 |
|
1 | 0 |
4 |
|
0 | 0 |
3 |
|
0 | 0 |
2 |
|
0 | 0 |
1 |
|
0 | 0 |
0 |
|
1 | 0 |
|
Arithmetic Mean: 5.0
Weighted score: 5.0
Overall Rank: 7790
Posted: October 3, 2004 3:58 PM PDT; Last modified: October 3, 2004 3:58 PM PDT
View voting details
Comments:
134 view(s)
|
In Glasgow wear flannels,
The Marches in Carisle wear tweeds;
But all of them doff 'em
For Foul Sue of Poffham
And seem (but aren't quite) the same breed.