*BA1a
*D1916
* Over the Brazier
*X4
*N1
*L1
*Mt
THE POET IN THE NURSERY
*M
*L1
�The youngest poet down the shelves was fumbling�
�In a dim library, just behind the chair�
�From which the ancient poet was mum-mumbling�
�A song about some Lovers at a Fair,�
�Pulling his long white beard and gently grumbling�
�That rhymes were beastly things and never there.�
�And as I groped, the whole time I was thinking�
�About the tragic poem I'd been writing -- �
�An old man's life of beer and whiskey drinking,�
�His years of kidnapping and wicked fighting;�
�And how at last, into a fever sinking,�
�Remorsefully he died, his bedclothes biting.�
�But suddenly I saw the bright green cover�
�Of a thin pretty book right down below;�
�I snatched it up and turned the pages over,�
�To find it full of poetry, and so�
�Put it down my neck with quick hands like a lover�
�And turned to watch if the old man saw it go.�
�The book was full of funny muddling mazes�
�Each rounded off i . . .
