Author: Ray Romine

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After The Storm

A chap from Ohio named Taft
Was libeled and labeled as daft;
But in spite ot hot air
He still smiles, debonair,
Sort of caught, as it were, in the draft.

by Ray Romine Friday, November 3, 1950

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After The Snow

The winter stands in silence now,
His white scarf pulled about his throat,
And contemplates , with furrowed brow,
His sparkling ermine overcoat.

The hungry sparrow chirps protest
Upon the callous icy air,
And l ongs for summer, when the best
Was always on his Bill-of-fare.

I know what his forlornness means,
For as the bitter days go by,
I’d give the winter’s choicest scenes
For one small yellow butterfly.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, December 18, 1945

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After Taxes

Thank God we are Americans
Who needn’t scrounge in garbage cans;
Yet Uncle Sam will see, it’s true,
We live upon the residue!

by Ray Romine Friday, August 24, 1951

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After Looking Through Some Volumes Of Verse At A Bookseller’s

I shall hang some words together:
They may not exactly fit;
But if verse can sell a publisher ,
Why, that’s the most of it.

For, while I may think it’ s dreadful,
And you may decide it stinks,
Let us stifle our emotions:
It’s with cash the public thinks.

And the Bookstore clerk will gladly
All his own opinions smother,
As he holds his nose with one hand,
Making money with the other.

I shall hang some words together,
And regret them by-and-by;
But if they attract the shekels,
I shall not exactly cry.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, October 1, 1946