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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=463873" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The First Time</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=463873" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The first time I told my poor father<br>that I intended to become a poet, come what may, <br>like John Greenleaf Whittier and many another<br>it was the morning of the day.<br>The sun threw a bucket of light lightly<br>over the grey shale flags, a white screen for the leaves<br>to finger-signal. The trees shimmered and sang mightily.<br>It was the Main Line. He had made it.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=463873" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">All the greeny shrubs in the dark little plots stood stock still<br>listening to overhear what he might say-<br>The day lilies nodded and lent ear.<br>Would he be angry? Would he sing goddam? <br>Would he look at me like I was a fool, an abomination? <br>the despair of his life? Something to obscure? <br>Suggest, again, <br>with crisp, hopeful conviction<br>that I take flying lessons? <br>'Quem, tu, Melpomene, semel'<br>Lo. he did not swear, stamp his foot, <br>yell, or fill the air with terse, menacing cries.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=463873" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Rather, he sat stock still and gave it a minute-<br>being in all respects a thoughtful man<br>who had seen his share of accident and misfortune<br>and who knew the link between them.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Morgan+Michaels">Morgan Michaels</a></strong></div>