To a Little Poor Man, Wiping a Crust, Preparatory to Lunching
You have eight silver buttons on your coat,
A scarf of faded scarlet at your throat.
The spring is yours, with all her suns and rains
You stare at restaurants thro' window panes
And see them sitting there, each saint, and sinner,
Talking of golf and horses, eating dinner —
Sit down, my friend, and feed upon your crust,
... You shall be splendid when these men are dust.
A scarf of faded scarlet at your throat.
The spring is yours, with all her suns and rains
You stare at restaurants thro' window panes
And see them sitting there, each saint, and sinner,
Talking of golf and horses, eating dinner —
Sit down, my friend, and feed upon your crust,
... You shall be splendid when these men are dust.
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