The moon's a little prairie-dog.
He shivers through the night.
He sits upon his hill and cries
For fear that I will bite.

The sun's a broncho. He's afraid
Like every other thing,
And trembles, morning, noon and night,
Lest I should spring, and sting. 

Added: Jun 15 2005 | Viewed: 519 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Vachel Lindsay
Poem: What the Rattlesnake Said
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