October--A Wood <br /> <br /> <br />'I know what you are going to say,' she said, <br />And she stood up, looking uncommonly tall: <br />'You are going to the speak of the hectic fall, <br />And say you're sorry the summer's dead, <br />And no other summer was like it, you know, <br />And can I imagine what made it so. <br />Now aren't you, honestly?' 'Yes,' I said. <br /> <br />'I know what you're going to say,' she said: <br />'You are going to ask if I forget <br />That day in June when the woods were wet, <br />And you carried me'--here she drooped her head-- <br />'Over the creek; you are going to say, <br />Do I remember that horrid day. <br />Now aren't you, honestly?' 'Yes,' I said. <br /> <br />'I know what you are going to say,' she said: <br />'You are going to say that since that time <br />You have rather tended to run to rhyme <br />And'--her clear glance fell, and her cheek grew red-- <br />'And have I noticed your tone was queer. <br />Why, everybody has seen it here! <br />Now aren't you, honestly?' 'Yes,' I said. <br /> <br />'I now what you are going to say,' I said: <br />'You're going to say you've been much annoyed; <br />And I'm short of tact--you will say, devoid-- <br />And I'm clumsy and awkward; and call me 'Ted'; <br />And I bear abuse like a dear old lamb; <br />And you'll have me, anyway, just as I am. <br />Now aren't you, honestly?' 'Ye-es,' she said.<br /><br />Henry Cuyler Bunner<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/candor/
