Author Fleur Adcock Go softly past the graveyard where Hipponax is asleep: take care! Don't wake that spiteful wasp, who stung Even his parents with his tongue. In Hell itself, where now he lies, His red-hot words can cauterize. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 4 (1 vote) Rate Log in or register to post comments