Author J. A. Pott You used to send me gifts, now having won My favour, as you think, you send me none; 'Tis best to feed a captive now and then, The boar ill-fed is like to force his den. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 3 (1 vote) Rate Log in or register to post comments