Classic poem of the day
“See there,” he said, “my fair American!
Yon noisy child
I'd like to choke, being but ‘brutal man;’
That Mother mild
“Takes all its howls for music, comforts it
With song and kiss:
And gives it, at the loudest of its fit,
Her milky bliss.
“And there again,—yon little lambkin bleating,
Made for mint-sauce:
At its first cry the Ewe quits clover-eating
And runs, perforce.
“And yet again, that purpl......
Member poem of the day
About fourteen and a half years
before my birth,
yours truly not even a twinkle
in the eyes of his then
young father and mother
the former born April 9th 1929,
while the latter would be turning ten
that upcoming November 13th
living in destitution
with her three older siblings
(in proximity to then prosperous Coney Island)
emotionally devastated crying unabashedly
when she returned to espy absent building
as a wife for cou...
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