Poetry Archives

In Wall Street once a potent power,
     And now a multi-millionaire
Alone within a shady bower
     In clothes his valet would not wear,
He watches bird wings bright the air.

The man who mighty mergers planned,
     And oil and coal kinglike controlled,
With field-glasses in failing hand
     Spies downy nestlings five days old,
With joy he could not buy for gold.

Aye, even childlike is his glee;
     But how he crisps with hate and dread
And shakes a clawlike fist to see
     A kestrel hover overhead:
Though he would never shoot it dead.

Although his cook afar doth forage
     For food to woo his appetite,
The old man lives on milk and porridge
     And now it is his last delight
At eve if one lone linnet lingers
     To pick crushed almonds from his fingers.