"contented" poems
you may not believe it
but there are people
who go through life with
very little
friction or
distress.
they dress well, eat
well, sleep well.
they are contented with
their family
life.
they have moments of
grief
but all in all
they are undisturbed
and often feel
very good.
and when they die
it is an easy
death, usually in their
sleep.
you may not believe
it
but such people do
exist.
but I am not one of
them.
oh no, I am not one
of them,
I am not even near
to being
one of
them
but they are
there
and I am
here.
45.4k
How do you do that?
How can you make me smile with a simple act?
From this moment, I begin to think
But the way you make me feel is hard to explain
You’re one of the many aspects that changed my life
Coz’ you always make me happy
And I want you to know, after all
For the rest of it, that I’m very lucky
You make me laugh, you make me smile
You’re smart, you’re different that made my day to shine
For all the nights that I shed tear
I won’t worry anymore, for you- is finally here
That summer cold times, I’m contented just being by your side
All those feelings I just can’t hide
You’re special to me
And I hope you’re beginning to see
I can’t describe how much I care
But when you need me, I will ensure you that I’ll be there
To wipe your tears when you’re sad
To make you happy when you’re mad
I never imagined how sweet this could be
With emotion and desire that’s coming over me
Now I’m trouble…. but in sweet, sweet trouble
Because I could not happily escape this anymore
I love the times when we chat and text
And I don’t want to end those nights and wait for the next
The things you do and no one else will do
Results me on thinking of you
When there is something in my mind
Or weighs heavy in my heart
You always seem to know what
I want to say before I ever start
You have your own special way
Of making me feel valuable than I am
What I want to say is
You’re soft gentle smile, on me, truly understands
I am truthfully fortunate my dear friend
You have that personality to where I can learn
You are in my dreams whether I’m awake or asleep
While these emotions, for you, are going way too deep
A best friend, to me, I gladly submit
Giving my all, to you, I admit
This feeling I feel for you is something totally new
And I’m so glad, so so glad, that I met you.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
the hours rise up putting off stars and it is
dawn
into the street of the sky light walks scattering poems
on earth a candle is
extinguished the city
wakes
with a song upon her
mouth having death in her eyes
and it is dawn
the world
goes forth to ****** dreams….
i see in the street where strong
men are digging bread
and i see the brutal faces of
people contented hideous hopeless cruel happy
and it is day,
in the mirror
i see a frail
man
dreaming
dreams
dreams in the mirror
and it
is dusk on earth
a candle is lighted
and it is dark.
the people are in their houses
the frail man is in his bed
the city
sleeps with death upon her mouth having a song in her eyes
the hours descend,
putting on stars….
in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems
31.1k
a (the) woman’s body (pretty pleasing)
is my reciprocal
her waist is my happy place
her neck is my doorway
the rest is
best when she is mirror accessorizing,
preening, **** upon first rising,
tallying the gains and the losses
unaware of my watching,
never satisfied she, tho she is 98% unadmitting contented,
as she shifts her weight,
from knee to knee extended alternating
with slow delicacy
for the pleasure is trebled
for her imagine image reverberates
throughout the house
for ever(y) mirror is pre-positioned,
accidentally angled just so, lol,
her image transported from living room to dining alcove
all the way to the kitchen’s bleacher seats
she doesn’t know and asks why I’m grinning,
answer is
no confessionary, no telling I’m swelling and
sinning
eyes scheming-dreaming of her reciprocity
she smiles and says
“good morning bad boy”
maybe she does know
but you won’t tell her,
we, you and me,
are pretty pleasing
she is 1/me
she is won over me
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 8:39 AM UTC
Your face is always into sunshine;
It gives hope and clear aura to everyone.
The way your eyes say Hi whenever you smile;
It lessens up a bad vibe not just for awhile.
You are clothed with strength and dignity.
And you laugh without fearing the future and reality.
In the darkest days of your life;
I know you’ll stand tall to find the sunlight.
You won’t bloom to where you’ve planted.
I know you’ll explore more to get started.
It’s your goal for a better life to get;
Pursuing to reach your dreams and to be contented.
You are a flower that will not wither.
It’s because you know how to get yourself watered.
Even in cloudy days turned rainy.
You still know how to make yourself shiny.
Your influence is like spreading seeds;
Planting good vibes to the ones who are in need.
You are a sunshine that lightens up a day.
A sunflower that smiles, feeling like summer.
© Quenniebells, 2015
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
This Advent moon shines cold and clear,
These Advent nights are long;
Our lamps have burned year after year,
And still their flame is strong.
"Watchman, what of the night?" we cry,
Heart-sick with hope deferred:
"No speaking signs are in the sky,"
Is still the watchman's word.
The Porter watches at the gate,
The servants watch within;
The watch is long betimes and late,
The prize is slow to win.
"Watchman, what of the night?" but still
His answer sounds the same:
"No daybreak tops the utmost hill,
Nor pale our lamps of flame."
One to another hear them speak,
The patient virgins wise:
"Surely He is not far to seek,"--
"All night we watch and rise."
"The days are evil looking back,
The coming days are dim;
Yet count we not His promise slack,
But watch and wait for Him."
One with another, soul with soul,
They kindle fire from fire:
"Friends watch us who have touched the goal."
"They urge us, come up higher."
"With them shall rest our waysore feet,
With them is built our home,
With Christ." "They sweet, but He most sweet,
Sweeter than honeycomb."
There no more parting, no more pain,
The distant ones brought near,
The lost so long are found again,
Long lost but longer dear:
Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,
Nor heart conceived that rest,
With them our good things long deferred,
With Jesus Christ our Best.
We weep because the night is long,
We laugh, for day shall rise,
We sing a slow contented song
And knock at Paradise.
Weeping we hold Him fast Who wept
For us,--we hold Him fast;
And will not let Him go except
He bless us first or last.
Weeping we hold Him fast to-night;
We will not let Him go
Till daybreak smite our wearied sight,
And summer smite the snow:
Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove
Shall coo the livelong day;
Then He shall say, "Arise, My love,
My fair one, come away."
18k
the count starts now (tired of tired)
I read your outcry at 3:00am
posted on Facebook
you are
tired of tired
sick of sick
the only question, will it ever end...
rise this day, start another way...
count your blessing
count against all odds
for there are more than merely one
use both hands
both hands chested to feel the heart thrusting,
for living is a wondrous blessing unique
an unbelievable to believe than so many beats,
born and borne,
by you, a strength unequaled,
you a richness possessed
count that one first.
count my hands holding your shoulders.
count that as two, one for me, one for you.
more? more.
mirror. find the tiny light in each eye against a yellow backdrop.
add two more. for they are a sparking confidence of confirming.
you felt the heart thrumming
go back, feel the breathing warmth breaching forth.
add another. for now known you can never ever be cold.
wash the face, wash away the caution that sleep leaves,
the coverlet of fear that fears you not to dare,
amazing that tap water plain is sacred when it
miracle breaks you out and anoints thy forehead with pure oil like the kings of yore, be a kingly human being.
go out. do not return
until one act of kind is performed and
count that as a thousand blessed, a sum recurring recounted
walk humble and the path will always appear.
walk contented for you can be both king and servant,
there is no difference - you must be both to be the other
one.
and if you still cannot raise the head,
call me.
that would be a blessing for me
and I will hear your blessings sounds mine merge,
dear friend and no more stranger,
that is the simplest definition of our learning to count to
infinity
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 4:33 AM UTC
In the darkest depths of dream time
The mind does start to play
I can't get any peace while I'm awake
It's better off this way
I'm going for a joyride
On a psychedelic tortoise
Riding barefoot through the air
On a wave of floating fairydust
A mass of smiling faces
Of people as we pass them by
I wave and grin right back at them
And breathe a contented sigh
The sun isn't just red and yellow
It's blue and green and pink
The tortoise glides towards it
We're heading there I think
Fairies sprinkle magic dust
with gold and silver hues
The land of golden memories
Where no-one sings the blues
We drift around from place to place
Past villages and towns
Just floating through the cosmos
Enveloped in sights and sounds
Onward to the morning
My tortoise brings me back to light
to spend my day anticipating
where we shall travel to tonight.
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 7:40 AM UTC
Tell me why it seems like the walls are closing in
Tell me why my hopes they're stretched far and thin
Tell me why my dreams still struggle in this fight
Tell me why every time I draw air but it feels so tight.
Tell me why in this turmoil my heart does wallow
Tell me why lifes' lessons by the heapfuls I choke to swallow
Tell me why I'm somewhat free but then again I am not
Tell me why I really do have but I haven't really got.
Tell me why I try to sleep many a restless night
Tell me why I am so afraid of many a fearful fright
Tell me why I still feel the way I have felt before
Tell me why I ask many questions which leaves me broken and sore.
Tell me why so much emotions run amok within me
Tell me why I look yet I do not really see
Tell me why despondence is back; it's here to haunt
Tell me why such uncertainties always beckons to taunt.
Tell me why I want more but I am quite contented
Tell me why I have to accept the path I've very much resented
Tell me why I already know but I still keep on asking
Tell me why it seems like the reasons are in every way lacking.
Tell me why I feel so happy but in fact I am so sad
Tell me why it all seems unfair but I have to be glad
Tell me why I found love in the most unfortunate circumstance
Tell me why to a mournful tune I am stuck in dance.
Tell me why my heart feels engorged but I can't release it all
Tell me why I am so scared but I would still want to fall
Tell me why I feel you close when you're farther than far
Tell me why it seems incredulous that we share the same star.
Tell me why I long to give you more when I can't this instant
Tell me why I can feel better but I seem so resistant
Tell me why sometimes I look up and curse at my luck
Tell me why I refuse to focus on courage that I really should pluck.
Tell me why I lay in bed dreaming of a place far away
Tell me why I find myself moping more and more each day
Tell me why I chose to be naive and in fate I do give trust
Tell me why time and time again it just gets ground to dust.
Tell me why I feel so beaten and weak when I should be strong
Tell me why I am so familiar in a place I don't belong
Tell me why I have to live with a mask on my face
Tell me why I feel like a marionette strung up by lace.
Tell me why I dug deep when these words make me cry
Tell me why the tears still trickle when my eyes are dry
Tell me why I share this when I know you would feel bad
Tell me why I would even spout the words that make you sad.
Tell me why these painful wounds I didn't choose to lick
Tell me why I didn't let them heal but instead I would pick
Tell me why I feel as though I am quite addicted
Tell me why it seems like I enjoy the dark I've inflicted.
Tell me why sometimes I question, the things you see in me
Tell me why you've said it many times but I don't really see
Tell me why I haven't drifted far when I should've a while ago
The reason is you; because you have chosen to love me.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
<>
"And then one day you came back home
You were a creature all in rapture
You had the key to your soul
And you did open that day you came back to the garden
The olden summer breeze was blowin' on your face
The light of God was shinin' on your countenance divine
And you were a violet colour as you
Sat beside your father and your mother in the garden
The summer breeze was blowin' on your face
Within your violet you treasure your summery words
And as the shiver from my neck down to my spine
Ignited me in daylight and nature in the garden"
In the Garden,
song by by Van Morrison
<>
***This touches me deep in the chest cavity,
the palpitations of its internalizing echoing cavitations,
a warning, go slow, choose your words wise and
accrue, the mood,
for the ache of creating, hurts, fevers me
for I am but steps away from the garden,
and its violet hues infused with fresh sunrising golden hazes,
with kindly warmth, with warming kindnesses,
touches,
caresses my shoulders, begs me to stop crying,
overcome, for I am overcome, eyes dropping wetting droplets,
for find myself at the intersection,
interlocking crossroads
where perfect perfection
begins and must
meet its natural endings
thoughts of capture, retentions, preservations,
all impossibilities, challenges,
see me, begging itinerant
muses
in the neighborhood
to guide my hand, teach me newsome words,
mine feel so old, so unworthy of this moment,
hearing me solicit their
Treasure of Summery
Words
but they won't,
excusing themselves,
that this in particular human has exercised, exorcised,
all the tools in his ever diminishing capacity,
time insufficient to learn a new calculus of
addition
and bid me calm my heaving chest,
seize my tears, just add them to the brackish salted waters steps
awaiting away
live in this moment
live within this poem,
revisit it frequent,
weep no more,
your stilling heart weakened,
take fast what is given now,
and be contented,
your treasury chest is full,
overflowing with this summary of
summery***
but I am not, cannot…
7:48:am
jul 22
Jul 22, 2025
Jul 22, 2025 at 8:03 AM UTC
Happiness isn't about laughing out loud.
Happiness is about being contented of what you have.
And sometimes, by being just simply smiling means a lot.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
You …
My Love.
My Queen.
This Shining Light in my eyes.
My Laughs.
My Dreams.
My Soft, Contented Sighs.
My *****
My Lavender.
My Dew Covered Rose.
My Smile.
My Cinnamon.
The Joy in my heart … ever inspiring my prose.
My Best Friend.
My Co-Star.
My Fearless Partner in Crime.
My Breath.
My Cohort.
My Side-kick throughout time.
My Snow-capped Mountain.
The Wind caressing my face.
My Vast Green Field.
The Ivy Covered Wall
that harbors my soul … ever refusing to yield.
You … are my Life.
You … are my World.
You … are my Everything
and I will always love you.
~Charlie Brown
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 8:03 AM UTC
I miss our chats, the endless days
It felt like time stopped still;
Our hands together, lying down
Electric pulsing thrill
Eating ice-cream, stolen moments
And laughing all the while;
Feeling happy, loved, contented
That perfect beaming smile
I miss our silly time together
Being someone new;
Learning and discovering
All the while with you
Throwing paint and stealing kisses
Crackling touch, like sparks;
Trembling lips and shaking knees
The beating of my heart
May 14, 2019
May 14, 2019 at 10:05 AM UTC
Why I Always Carry Tissues
To My Children:
I'm laughing at myself,
As I am prone to do because
Why I Always Carry Tissues
Is the title of a poem
I write for you.
There is a story here,
Of parenting, and responsibilties
That transcends yourself, defines me,
Vis-a-vis you,
then and there, and maybe now.
When you were small,
I took you by the hand,
The cement canyons, trails & rivers
of West Eighty Six Street,
Together, we would ford.
Periodically, as Fathers are prone to do,
Your hand, from my hand,
I would release
So you could fall down,
All on your own.
It bemused me that I could see
Three or four paces ahead of thee
Exactly which crack,
Upon which you would trip,
And come crying back to me.
Back-to-me.
That was then.
And now,
Yes, no more,
Back-to-me.
But I always had tissues
to dry your eyes
And no surprise,
I still do,
Always will.
These days, they,
more likely used to dry mine,
As I have forded that Styxy river,
When crossed, you spend more of the day,
Liking Back more,
Then looking ahead.
No matter, by right and tradition,
It is still my mission, that
when you need, when you bleed,
as I know you surely shall,
These pocket tissues will be there
Ready, willing and able, fully capable,
of snatching away your tears.
**When you need,
When you bleed,
And you surely shall,
These pockets of mine,
Of tissue made,
Are waiting for your tears,
And you, to fill them,
For without them,
Their raison d'etre is unfulfilled.**
These used tissues are my history book,
Re the art of loving, and the arch-i-texture of life,
Of tears and hearts,
And concrete spills,
That need knees to be complete.
That is why you will find me, without fail,
Ready, willing and able, holding my
White Badge of Courage at the ready,
Waiting patiently, for my mission to be redeemed,
Missions known as parenting schemes.
The scheme is clear, even if
my tissues you no longer request,
You will let your own babies
fall n' fail, then take their tears
Put them in your pocket,
keep them forever wet,
Like my memories of you
the ones I cherish best...
Perhaps a tradition
We will start,
Unsightly bulges in our pocket rear,
Where we will store our packet of saver-saviors
Removers of our dear one's fears.
If we are truly wise
Those tissued memories
We will keep,
Die among them contented,
Knee-scraped deep
When tears fall...
2008
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
I realized I liked you when
our eyes met then I immediately
looked away as if it was the first time
I laid my eyes on you.
I realized I liked you when
I made a list of things we could
talk about but ended up blanking out
when I started talking to you.
I realized I’ve fallen for you when
we were in a concert and you
accompanied me throughout the night.
I knew my heart was pounding not from
the loud speakers but from you
being so close to me.
I realized I’ve fallen for you when
I got nervous and you held my hand,
comforting me with no words said;
contented with how our fingers
interlaced with one another.
I realized I loved you when
I started writing about you and
our happy moments that now have
turned into memories.
I realized I loved you when
I turned you into poetry.
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 3:55 AM UTC
Under the ivory light
of a full amber moon;
your *******
rose and white,
never looked so inviting.
The half moon reminds me
of their shape.
My kisses like fairies
dance between them;
skin tingles,
you writhe.
The crescent moon reminds me
of slowly drooping eyes
as I fall asleep
on the pillow of your *******
purring happy
contented sighs.
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 12:56 PM UTC
Show in contented rest
bringing ghosts
company wished greenly
how did you know?
Bleeding on too long
they had to be cut down
from hooks and ropes
in order of feeding.
Liars causing problems
complicated sacrament
with slickness
under blackberry briars.
Safe from hawks
stay in Juicyland
where it's prickly
free from ****
This song triples guessed
foxy playing hard
around leafy bush
only snake does not miss.
Dance my badger spirit
agile amongst complexity
ward off and wander.
Kangaroo mouse prance.
Survival in stickers
only seasonal escape.
Where to hide from
next your sly rival?
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 10:40 AM UTC
Dim vales—and shadowy floods—
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can’t discover
For the tears that drip all over
Huge moons there wax and wane—
Again—again—again—
Every moment of the night—
Forever changing places—
And they put out the star-light
With the breath from their pale faces.
About twelve by the moon-dial
One more filmy than the rest
(A kind which, upon trial,
They have found to be the best)
Comes down—still down—and down
With its centre on the crown
Of a mountain’s eminence,
While its wide circumference
In easy drapery falls
Over hamlets, over halls,
Wherever they may be—
O’er the strange woods—o’er the sea—
Over spirits on the wing—
Over every drowsy thing—
And buries them up quite
In a labyrinth of light—
And then, how deep!—O, deep!
Is the passion of their sleep.
In the morning they arise,
And their moony covering
Is soaring in the skies,
With the tempests as they toss,
Like—almost any thing—
Or a yellow Albatross.
They use that moon no more
For the same end as before—
Videlicet a tent—
Which I think extravagant:
Its atomies, however,
Into a shower dissever,
Of which those butterflies,
Of Earth, who seek the skies,
And so come down again
(Never-contented thing!)
Have brought a specimen
Upon their quivering wings.
7.3k
Dough making
with flour and water
Salt and butter
Calls for kneading
In ritualistic candor
As parts come together
To an irreversible matter
The soft cushion of dough
between the palm and the bowl
pliable with every push and shove
stretched and compressed
In sheepish conformity
Blistered on skillet
Puffed up to a chapati
Heavens thanked with each bite
For flat bread with savory curry
Fills nostrils with soft aromas-
Relished as heaven on tongue-
One is contented of this flat bread
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
269
Bound—a trouble—
And lives can bear it!
Limit—how deep a bleeding go!
So—many—drops—of vital scarlet—
Deal with the soul
As with Algebra!
Tell it the Ages—to a cypher—
And it will ache—contented—on—
Sing—at its pain—as any Workman—
Notching the fall of the Even Sun!
5.5k
they found him walking along the freeway
all red in
front
he had taken a rusty tin can
and cut off his ******
machinery
as if to say --
see what you've done to
me? you might as well have the
rest.
and he put part of him
in one pocket and
part of him in
another
and that's how they found him,
walking
along.
they gave him over to the
doctors
who tried to sew the parts
back
on
but the parts were
quite contented
the way they
were.
I think sometimes of all of the good
***
turned over to the
monsters of the
world.
maybe it was his protest against
this or
his protest
against
everything.
a one man
Freedom March
that never squeezed in
between
the concert reviews and the
baseball
scores.
God, or somebody,
bless
him.
5.3k
I showed nothing but kindness,
Thought we've shared real happiness.
As time goes by,
We've been close to each other.
But then, in the end,
I found out that it was just a big lie.
You were backstabbing me!
Behind my back you became an inventor-
A great inventor of lies about me-
Lies that degraded me.
You've been so cold to me
And treated me badly.
You even compared me to others
And made it a point
That I am not as good as them.
But still, you are not contented with that
You persuade others to treat me the same way you do
Every time I'm with all of you,
I feel so alone;
I'm out of place;
You all made me feel like I don't exist;
As if I'm just a thin air.
Is there something I did
For all of you to treat me like this?
What is your problem with me?
I tried my best to blend in,
I've been a good company.
But why are you treating me like this??
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
3 X 5 index card poems
3 smallish poems in five minutes
~
reheating
honey can I make you something to eat?
***no babe, you know I hate to see you cooking, frying
standing over pots and stirring sauces
trying to brush
wisps of bangs from your eyes
while wearing kitchen mitts***
What I would prefer is something leftover,
reheated served with a smiling grin from my ear
to wayover down under there,
next to you
<•>
old words are better than than new ones
hey, hi! how you doing, old friend?
“yo, out of the hospital feeling so much better;
had some kind of ‘itis’ which they cured with an ‘yisis’!”
***glad to hear; impressed by all those new big scientific words;
frankly preferred your old ones, that were rediscovered and
reoriented in new ways in your poems verses;
me?
never better cause to hear from a man
whose optimism has yet to meet a
match
that he can’t best,***
heals all our wounds
<|>
if you told me
***that I could spend three successive rainy days in almost all silence, perfectly contented by myself,
i’d said you crazy,***
isn’t that true babe?
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
I was a cottage maiden
Hardened by sun and air
Contented with my cottage mates,
Not mindful I was fair.
Why did a great lord find me out,
And praise my flaxen hair?
Why did a great lord find me out,
To fill my heart with care?
He lured me to his palace home--
Woe's me for joy thereof--
To lead a shameless shameful life,
His plaything and his love.
He wore me like a silken knot,
He changed me like a glove;
So now I moan, an unclean thing,
Who might have been a dove.
O Lady kate, my cousin Kate,
You grew more fair than I:
He saw you at your father's gate,
Chose you, and cast me by.
He watched your steps along the lane,
Your work among the rye;
He lifted you from mean estate
To sit with him on high.
Because you were so good and pure
He bound you with his ring:
The neighbors call you good and pure,
Call me an outcast thing.
Even so I sit and howl in dust,
You sit in gold and sing:
Now which of us has tenderer heart?
You had the stronger wing.
O cousin Kate, my love was true,
Your love was writ in sand:
If he had fooled not me but you,
If you stood where I stand,
He'd not have won me with his love
Nor bought me with his land;
I would have spit into his face
And not have taken his hand.
Yet I've a gift you have not got,
And seem not like to get:
For all your clothes and wedding-ring
I've little doubt you fret.
My fair-haired son, my shame, my pride,
Cling closer, closer yet:
Your father would give his lands for one
To wear his coronet.
4.6k
A dancing Bear grotesque and funny
Earned for his master heaps of money,
Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey,
And cheerful if the day was sunny.
Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood
He tramped, and on some common stood;
There, cottage children circling gaily,
He in their midmost footed daily.
Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle
Were quite enough his brain to puzzle:
But like a philosophic bear
He let alone extraneous care
And danced contented anywhere.
Still, year on year, and wear and tear,
Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear.
A day came when he scarce could prance,
And when his master looked askance
On dancing Bear who would not dance.
To looks succeeded blows; hard blows
Battered his ears and poor old nose.
From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon;
He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon,
Capered in fury fast and faster.
Ah, could he once but hug his master
And perish in one joint disaster!
But deafness, blindness, weakness growing,
Not fury's self could keep him going.
One dark day when the snow was snowing
His cup was brimmed to overflowing:
He tottered, toppled on one side,
Growled once, and shook his head, and died.
The master kicked and struck in vain,
The weary drudge had distanced pain
And never now would wince again.
The master growled; he might have howled
Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled.
So gnawed by rancor and chagrin
One thing remained: he sold the skin.
What next the man did is not worth
Your notice or my setting forth,
But hearken what befell at last.
His idle working days gone past,
And not one friend and not one penny
Stored up (if ever he had any
Friends; but his coppers had been many),
All doors stood shut against him but
The workhouse door, which cannot shut.
There he droned on,--a grim old sinner,
Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner,
Unpitied quite, uncared for much
(The rate-payers not favoring such),
Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare;
Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear
Danced back, a haunting memory.
Indeed, I hope so, for you see
If once the hard old heart relented,
The hard old man may have repented.
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