Such guests as you, sir, were not in my mind
When I my homely dish with care designed;
'Twas certain humble souls I would have fed
Who do not turn from wholesome milk and bread:
You came, slow-trotting on the narrow way,
O'erturned the food, and trod it in the clay;
Then low with discoid nostrils sniffing curt,
Cried, “Sorry cook! why, what a mess of dirt!”
To A Certain Critic
George Macdonald
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Poem topics: food, sorry, narrow, milk, mind, humble, bread, slow, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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