Stephen (Steve) Howard
On Principle I Suppose - Poem by Stephen (Steve) Howard
Dirt, O dirt, O dirtious dirt,
mud and silt and sand.
It's found on your clothes,
tween your toes, up your nose,
and often is found on the hand.
But dirt, O dirt, without dirtious dirt,
just where in the world would we stand?
Comments about On Principle I Suppose by Stephen (Steve) Howard
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
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl