Recreations for Solitary Hours
Written by the wayside with a pencil, when waiting on an acquaintance, who met with another, with whom he stopped to speak.
Time flies as quick as words fly from your tongue,
You don't consider how I tire your stay,
Your words how many!—and your themes how long!
I think the whole vocabulary you'll drain
Before you end.—I wish you'd come away,—
But both alike, you've both so much to say
'Bout this and that, as grieves you to the heart
To make a pause,—as if to part is vain:—
I think they've stuck like Lot's, wife in the way,
Sure Job's great patience too, they'd tire to pain,
page 69 But if their legs get tired with such a stand,
I hope they won't sit down ere they disband.—
I wonder if a cry would make them start?—
But hold—"good night" I hear—I'm happy now— they part!