Touching your goodness, I am like a man <br />Who turns a letter over in his hand <br />And you might think this was because the hand <br />was unfamiliar but, truth is, the man <br />Has never had a letter from anyone; <br />And now he is both afraid of what it means <br />And ashamed because he has no other means <br />To find out what it says than to ask someone. <br /> <br />His uncle could have left the farm to him, <br />Or his parents died before he sent them word, <br />Or the dark girl changed and want him for beloved. <br />Afraid and letter-proud, he keeps it with him. <br />What would you call his feeling for the words <br />That keep him rich and orphaned and beloved?<br /><br />William Morris Meredith Jr.<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-illiterate/
