Poem Of Past

By Viren Gohil

Oh, the death of them is no such bugbear!

He heaves a stone up and casts it down

With such artistic sweep and strength

That they skin themselves up to their necks

With the mere friction, and they never say a word.

You can observe the same thing up in Maine.

The man takes a club and starts at one end

And that is what always happens, we think:

He hits them as hard as ever he can,

But the other person keeps on getting up and hitting back.

It is a most discouraging thing.

And by and by, when he has hit them about six times more,

He learns the trick of it—that he can stop there

And send his compliments to the other man's friends

By saying that business called him away;

But as a rule he does not leave the ground

Until he has demolished all of his enemies that are able to be demolished.

As we authoritatively stated,

We didn't know it was loaded, and we couldn't tell whether it would explode or not, but we were taking a chance:

And when you come to think of it,

• Aron Stone

By Viren Gohil