: Chimneysmoke by Morley Christopher Fogarty Thomas Illustrator - American poetry 20th century

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t I souse each dish and pan and pot; While Taffy mutters, purrs, and begs, And rubs himself against my legs.

The man who never in his life Has washed the dishes with his wife Or polished up the silver plate-- He still is largely celibate.

One warning: there is certain ware That must be handled with all care: The Lord Himself will give you up If you should drop a willow cup!

THE CHURCH OF UNBENT KNEES

As I went by the church to-day I heard the organ cry; And goodly folk were on their knees, But I went striding by.

My minster hath a roof more vast: My aisles are oak trees high; My altar-cloth is on the hills, My organ is the sky.

I see my rood upon the clouds, The winds, my chanted choir; My crystal windows, heaven-glazed, Are stained with sunset fire.

The stars, the thunder, and the rain, White sands and purple seas-- These are His pulpit and His pew, My God of Unbent Knees!

ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY COAL-BIN

The furnace tolls the knell of falling steam, The coal supply is virtually done, And at this price, indeed it does not seem As though we could afford another ton.

Now fades the glossy, cherished anthracite; The radiators lose their temperature: How ill avail, on such a frosty night, The "short and simple flannels of the poor."

Though in the icebox, fresh and newly laid, The rude forefathers of the omelet sleep, No eggs for breakfast till the bill is paid: We cannot cook again till coal is cheap.

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