“Friends” Poem

FRIENDS

BY E. VINCENT MILLAY (HONOR MEMBER, AGE 17)
(Cash Prize)
 

1. HE
I'VE sat here all the afternoon, watching her busy fingers HE 's sat here all the afternoon, talking about an awful
send
That needle in and out.
reach the end?
How soon, I wonder, will she
Embroidery! I can't see how a girl of Molly's common
sense
Can spend her time like that. Why, now just look at
that! I may be dense,
But, somehow, I don't see the fun in punching lots of
holes down through
A piece of cloth; and, one by one, sewing them up.
But Molly 'll do
A dozen of them, right around
That shapeless bit of stuff she 's found.
A dozen of them! Just like that!
And thinks it 's sense she's working at.
But, then, she's just a girl (although she's quite the best
one of the lot!),
And I'll just have to let her sew, whether it's foolishness
or not.

II. SHE

He's sat here all afternoon, talking about an awful game;
One boy will not be out till June, and then he may be
always lame.
Foot-ball! I'm sure I can't see why a boy like Bob- -So
good and kind -
Wishes to see poor fellows lie hurt on the ground. I may
be blind,
But, somehow, I don't see the fun. Some one calls,
"14-16-9";
You kick the ball, and then you run and try to reach a
white chalk-line.
And Bob would sit right there all day
And talk like that, and never say
A single word of sense; or so
It seems to me.
may not know.
But Bob's a faithful friend to me.
So let him talk that
game detested,
And I will smile and seem to be most wonderfully inter-
ested!