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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384008" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Prodigal</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The brown enormous odor he lived by<br>was too close, with its breathing and thick hair,<br>for him to judge. The floor was rotten; the sty<br>was plastered halfway up with glass-smooth dung.<br>Light-lashed, self-righteous, above moving snouts,<br>the pigs' eyes followed him, a cheerful stare--<br>even to the sow that always ate her young--<br>till, sickening, he leaned to scratch her head.<br>But sometimes mornings after drinking bouts<br>(he hid the pints behind the two-by-fours),<br>the sunrise glazed the barnyard mud with red<br>the burning puddles seemed to reassure.<br>And then he thought he almost might endure<br>his exile yet another year or more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But evenings the first star came to warn.<br>The farmer whom he worked for came at dark<br>to shut the cows and horses in the barn<br>beneath their overhanging clouds of hay,<br>with pitchforks, faint forked lightnings, catching light,<br>safe and companionable as in the Ark.<br>The pigs stuck out their little feet and snored.<br>The lantern--like the sun, going away--<br>laid on the mud a pacing aureole.<br>Carrying a bucket along a slimy board,<br>he felt the bats' uncertain staggering flight,<br>his shuddering insights, beyond his control,<br>touching him. But it took him a long time<br>finally to make up his mind to go home.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Bishop">Elizabeth Bishop</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384008" data-title="A Prodigal de Elizabeth Bishop" data-description="The brown enormous odor he lived by
was too close, with its breathing and thick hair,
for him to judge. The floor was rotten; the sty
was plastered halfway up with glass-smooth dung.
Light-lashed, self-righteous, above moving snouts,
the pigs' eye..."></div>
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