Franklin P. Adams
A Gotham Garden of Verses
In summer when the days are hot
The subway is delayed a lot;
In winter, quite the selfsame thing;
In autumn also, and in spring.
And does it not seem strange to you
That transportation is askew
In this--I pray, restrain your mirth!--
In this, the Greatest Town on Earth?
All night long and every night
The neighbors dance for my delight;
I hear the people dance and sing
Like practically anything.
Women and men and girls and boys,
All making curious kinds of noise
And dancing in so weird a way,
I never saw the like by day.
So loud a show was never heard
As that which yesternight occurred:
They danced and sang, as I have said,
As I lay wakeful in my bed.
They shout and cry and yell and laugh
And play upon the phonograph;
And endlessly I count the sheep,
Endeavouring to fall asleep.
It is very nice to think
This town is full of meat and drink;
That is, I'd think it very nice
If my pappa but had the price.
This town is so full of a number of folks,
I'm sure there will always be matter for jokes.
Franklin P. Adams's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (A Gotham Garden of Verses by Franklin P. Adams )
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
- WH Auden
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
- Henry Scott Holland
(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974)
- Francis Duggan
(17 June 1867 – 2 September 1922)
William Makepeace Thackeray
Walter de la Mare
(1873 - 1958)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- For John, Who Begs Me Not To Enquire Fur.., Anne Sexton
- Death is Nothing at All, Henry Scott Holland
- As I was walking, Walter de la Mare
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
- Selecting A Reader, Ted Kooser
- Million Man March Poem, Maya Angelou
- Little Billee, William Makepeace Thackeray
- Refugee Blues, WH Auden
- Tonight I can write the saddest lines, Pablo Neruda