Old Mr. Philosopher 
Comes for Ben and Claire, 
An ugly man, a tall man, 
With bright-red hair. 

The books that he’s written
No one can read. 
“In fifty years they’ll understand: 
Now there’s no need. 

“All that matters now 
Is getting the fun.
Come along, Ben and Claire; 
Plenty to be done.” 

Then old Philosopher, 
Wisest man alive, 
Plays at Lions and Tigers
Down along the drive— 

Gambolling fiercely 
Through bushes and grass, 
Making monstrous mouths, 
Braying like an ass

Twisting buttercups 
In his orange hair, 
Hopping like a kangaroo, 
Growling like a bear. 

Right up to tea-time
They frolic there. 
“My legs are wingle,” 
Says Ben to Claire. 

Added: Apr 28 2005 | Viewed: 517 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Robert Graves
Poem: Mr. Philosopher

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