William Henry Davies 3 July 1871 – 26 September 1940

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'Sheep' by W H Davies, submitted by George Sullivan 12 Nov 13 WHEN I was once in Baltimore, A man came up to me and cried, “Come, I have eighteen hundred sheep, And we will sail on Tuesday’s tide. “If you will sail with me, young man, I’ll pay you fifty shillings down; These eighteen hundred sheep I take From Baltimore to Glasgow town.” He paid me fifty shillings down, I sailed with eighteen hundred sheep; We soon had cleared the harbour’s mouth, We soon were in the salt sea deep. The first night we were out at sea Those sheep were quiet in their mind; The second night they cried with fear — They smelt no pastures in the wind, They sniffed, poor things, for their green fields, They cried so loud I could not sleep: For fifty thousand shillings down I would not sail again with sheep.
The man could see a century into the future. What a pitch perfect description of the Obama economic plan: Poor men need not go up so much as rich men should come down. Shared misery. Amen.
Can the poem 'Sheep' by W H Davies be published on this site?