(3 July 1871 – 26 September 1940 / Monmouthshire / Wales)

The Worms' Contempt

What do we earn for all our gentle grace?
A body stiff and cold from foot to face.

If you have beauty, what is beauty worth?
A mask to hide it, made of common earth.

What do we get for all our song and prattle?
A gasp for longer breath, and then a rattle.

What do we earn for dreams, and our high teaching?
The worms' contempt, that have no time for preaching.

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Other poems of DAVIES (49)

Comments (1)

Some times our heart revolts when our talents and hard work go unnoticed.We feel worthless, undesired. It is a poem about the downtrodden whose worth we ignore.