Summer Doggerel by Elizabeth Heaton

One day down-sitting in the purple sun
That green with orange cloves stood in my eyes,
Beside the smell of meadow-sweet and weeds,
Platform for zebraed insect and blue fly
And green, and gold; sitting in cotton dress
All pink and billowy and girlish-garden,
I heard a clatter in the yard behind,
The clump of hob-nailed boots, and starting, saw
A staring sweep, with windmill brushes cocked
Like feathery One o’clocks, upon his shoulder.
So black he looked and grim, I’d rather
Daun Pluto, his father.

From: Heaton, Elizabeth, “Summer Doggerel”, New Verse, No. 3, May 1933, p. 15.
(http://www.modernistmagazines.com/media/pdf/262.pdf)

Date: 1933

By: Elizabeth Heaton (?-?)

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