Not My Kind
They sought shelter from the Winter gales
But was turned away.
The Innkeeper shouted:
'You should know by now
Your kind is not welcome here.'
They wrapped themselves as tightly
As they could but it was hard
For the children.
He closed the door behind them
And watched them leave the premises,
Through the glass-paneled door.
After one hour elapsed
The Parish Priest arrived
'I heard you turned
Away the folks that were here
'Yes, I did, so? '
that's not right and you know it.'
'Easy for you to say.
I run a business here you know.'
'They have money too.
They would have payed you.'
'I don't need there money,
That I can get from my own people.
Let them build their own inn,
Instead of forcing
Themselves where they are not wanted.'
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Comments about this poem (Not My Kind by Buxton Shippy )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(7 April 1889 – 10 January 1957)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974)
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