The Hidden Years
A POEM
A workman asked at a village door,
“Have you a bed, a chair,
A fallen shelf, a broken drawer,
A table to repair?”
The mistress looked from the dusty room
But went her dusty way:
She could not rest from brush and broom
To hear the lad today.
The busy daughter looked and sighed
And fretted as she spun,
“Another peddler?” “Yes,” replied
The mother, “Joseph’s son.”
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To Angela, Who Is Afraid of Clowns
Clowns are grandfathers
painted with strokes of laughter
who kiss lollipops
but never lick them.
…