It is true, fellow citizens, <br />That my old docket lying there for years <br />On a shelf above my head and over <br />The seat of justice, I say it is true <br />That docket had an iron rim <br />Which gashed my baldness when it fell -- <br />(Somehow I think it was shaken loose <br />By the heave of the air all over town <br />When the gasoline tank at the canning works <br />Blew up and burned Butch Weldy) -- <br />But let us argue points in order, <br />And reason the whole case carefully: <br />First I concede my head was cut, <br />But second the frightful thing was this: <br />The leaves of the docket shot and showered <br />Around me like a deck of cards <br />In the hands of a sleight of hand performer. <br />And up to the end I saw those leaves <br />Till I said at last, "Those are not leaves, <br />Why, can't you see they are days and days <br />And the days and days of seventy years? <br />And why do you torture me with leaves <br />And the little entries on them?<br /><br />Edgar Lee Masters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/justice-arnett/
