A Thing It’s Not
He does deserve
What money bought:
A rural fling
That’ll grow more rocks
Than native crops.
No lack of nerve,
He’ll post his plot
To say, "It’s mine,"
And hang a sign
That calls it a farm,
Because what’s the harm
In calling a thing
A thing it’s not?
Robert Crawford
© 1999; originally printed in
The Larcom Review.
Reprinted
by permission of the author.
|