It has been quite some time since I have contributed to this site, and for that I am ashamed. I really need some high powered inspiration to let me write poems, and frankly, I have been running a little shy as of late, but to rectify that somewhat I would like to share with you, not a work of my own, but some of the poetry that I have been reading. The poem is by an englishman named W. H. Auden. Perhaps some of you have heard of him. I had not, until recently. Without further ado....
Nonsense Song
My love is like a red red rose
Or concerts for the blind,
She's like a mutton-chop before
And a rifle range behind.
Her hair is like a looking-glass,
Her brow is like a bog,
Her eyes are like a flock of sheep
Seen through a London fog.
Her nose is like an Irish jig,
Her mouth is like a 'bus,
Her chin is like a bowl of soup
Shared between all of us.
Her form divine is like a map
Of the United States,
Her foot is like a motor-car
Without its number-plates.
No steeple-jack shall part us now
Nor fireman in a frock;
True love could sink a Channel boat
Or knit a baby's sock.
(I just love the line about her rifle range behind.)
Doc
No comments:
Post a Comment