Her Oneself Poem by James McLain

One shot fired my old Gold-friend
her oneself
her of her of the purple simple plain
her petticoat and yellow garters being old
and like the dimly thing each now the fire it burns so low
and under her world-wide incredably such humility
such is like the thing from which few know
and she sings to me [ey_to_pwul_kwu_ha_ko]
being like of that with which her 'English' which is 'King'
thus it registers a crown in the newest star each hemisphere
she sprinkles past;
and vast quantities be of it too nearly intended for her candle
her lady waits with care and then retires too early
and without the fear, heavens long finger will it flicker
affairs of the home and the master,
which is open to the windows pain of rain when skies are clear.


e.d.