Richard Aldington, 'Childhood'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

Childhood

I

The bitterness. the misery, the wretchedness of childhood
Put me out of love with God.
I can't believe in God's goodness;
I can believe
In many avenging gods.
Most of all I believe
In gods of bitter dullness,
Cruel local gods
Who scarred my childhood.

II

I've seen people put
A chrysalis in a match-box,
"To see," they told me, "what sort of moth would come."
But when it broke its shell
It slipped and stumbled and fell about its prison
And tried to climb to the light
For space to dry its wings.

That's how I was.
Somebody found my chrysalis
And shut it in a match-box.
My shrivelled wings were beaten,
Shed their colours in dusty scales
Before the box was opened
For the moth to fly.

III

( I hate that town; )

By Richard Aldington

"Song for a Personal Prejudice", by Phyllis McGinley

[med_cat]

Song for a Personal Prejudice

January's bearable
 In spite of bad report.
Though February's terrible,
 It's short.
With snows in proper season,
 Each burdens down the larch.
But March is full of treason,
 And I hate March.

Hold your hats and duck, boys, March is nearly due,
The sleet is on the windowpane, the slush is on the shoe,
The pneumococcus carols a loud, triumphant song,
And not a holiday's in sight the whole month long.

( ...Besides, I own a private cause to call the time accurst...:P )