#343 The Foreigner - Poem by Jimmie Arrington
There are conversations all around,
All mixing and blurring into one.
On the left there’s talk about sales in town,
On the right, about a newborn son.
There are jokes and whispers in the corner,
With snide glares as well.
But not a word spoken to the foreigner,
Sitting alone, in his shell.
They’re wondering why he is here,
They would like to see him leave.
Until then they will squint and sneer
With tricks rolled up each sleeve.
He feels unwelcome, even despised,
He’s confused by all this hate.
Why is he punished and chastised?
Why do they insult his fate?
For now they look through foggy eyes
For him to stagger and fall.
But someday soon they will realize
He’s greater than them all.
Comments about #343 The Foreigner by Jimmie Arrington
Edgar Allan Poe
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl