Elizabeth Madox Roberts

His bridle hung around the post. The sun and the leaves made spots come down; I looked close at him through the fence; The post was drab and he was brown.

His nose was long and hard and still, And on his lip were specks like chalk. But once he opened up his eyes, And he began to talk.

He didn't talk out with his mouth; He didn't talk with words or noise. The talk was there along his nose; It seemed and then it was.

He said the day was hot and slow, And he said he didn't like the flies; They made him have to shake his skin, And they got drowned in his eyes.

He said that drab was just about The same as brown, but he was not A post, he said, to hold a fence. "I'm horse," he said, "that's what!"

And then he shut his eyes again. As still as they had been before. He said for me to run along And not to bother him any more.

The woodpecker pecked out a little round hole And made him a house in the telephone pole.

One day when I watched he poked out his head, And he had on a hood and a collar of red.

When the streams of rain pour out of the sky, And the sparkles of lightning go flashing by,

And the big, big wheels of thunder roll, He can snuggle back in the telephone pole.

I saw a shadow on the ground And heard a bluejay going by; A shadow went across the ground, And I looked up and saw the sky.

It hung up on the poplar tree, But while I looked it did not stay; It gave a tiny sort of jerk And moved a little bit away.

And farther on and farther on It moved and never seemed to stop. I think it must be tied with chains And something pulls it from the top.

It never has come down again, And every time I look to see, The sky is always slipping back And getting far away from me.

I went across the pasture lot When not a one was watching me. Away beyond the cattle barns I climbed a little crooked tree.

And I could look down on the field And see the corn and how it grows Across the world and up and down In very straight and even rows.

And far away and far away-- I wonder if the farmer man Knows all about the corn and how It comes together like a fan.

Our brother says that Will was born The very day that Dickie came; When one is four the other is, And all their birthdays are the same.

Their coats and waists are just alike; They have their hats together, too. They sleep together in one bed, And Will can put on Dickie's shoe.

But they are not the same at all; Two different boys they have to be, For Dick can play in Mother's room When Will is climbing in a tree.

Or maybe Will is on the porch To cry because he stubbed his toe, And Dick is laughing by the gate And watching ants go in a row.

The church has pieces jutting out Where corners of the walls begin. I have one for my little house, And I can feel myself go in.

I feel myself go in the bricks, And I can see myself in there. I'm always waiting all alone, I'm sitting on a little chair.

And I am sitting very still, And I am waiting on and on For something that is never there, For something that is gone.

A little light is going by, Is going up to see the sky, A little light with wings.

I never could have thought of it, To have a little bug all lit And made to go on wings.

When I was making myself a game Up in the garden, a little rain came.

It fell down quick in a sort of rush, And I crawled back under the snowball bush.

I could hear the big drops hit the ground And see little puddles of dust fly round.

A chicken came till the rain was gone; He had just a very few feathers on.

He shivered a little under his skin, And then he shut his eyeballs in.

Even after the rain had begun to hush It kept on raining up in the bush.

One big flat drop came sliding down, And a ladybug that was red and brown

Was up on a little stem waiting there, And I got some rain in my hair.