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Best Famous Call It A Day Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Call It A Day poems. This is a select list of the best famous Call It A Day poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Call It A Day poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of call it a day poems.

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Poems are below...



Written by Robert Frost | Create an image from this poem

Out Out--

 The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count Five mountain ranges one behind the other Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled, As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said To please the boy by giving him the half hour That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside them in her apron To tell them 'Supper'.
At the word, the saw, As if to prove saws knew what supper meant, Leaped out at the boy's hand, or seemed to leap-- He must have given the hand.
However it was, Neither refused the meeting.
But the hand! The boy's first outcry was a rueful laugh.
As he swung toward them holding up the hand Half in appeal, but half as if to keep The life from spilling.
Then the boy saw all-- Since he was old enough to know, big boy Doing a man's work, though a child at heart-- He saw all spoiled.
'Don't let him cut my hand off The doctor, when he comes.
Don't let him, sister!' So.
But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then -- the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed.
They listened at his heart.
Little -- less -- nothing! -- and that ended it.
No more to build on there.
And they, since they Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.
Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

My Typewriter

 I used to think a pot of ink
Held magic in its fluid,
And I would ply a pen when I
Was hoary a a Druid;
But as I scratch my silver thatch
My battered old Corona
Calls out to me as plaintively
As dying Desdemona.
"For old time's sake give me a break: To you I've been as loyal As ever could an Underwood, Or Remington or Royal.
The globe we've spanned together and Two million words, maybe, For you I've tapped - it's time you rapped A rhyme or two for me.
"I've seen you sit and smoke and spit With expletives profane, Then tear with rage the virgin page I tendered you in vain.
I've watched you glare in dull despair Through hours of brooding thought, Then with a shout bang gaily out The 'word unique' you sought.
"I've heard you groan and grunt and moan That rhyme's a wretched fetter; That after all you're just a small Fat-headed verse-begetter; You'd balance me upon your knee Like any lady friend, Then with a sigh you'd lay me by For weeks and weeks on end.
"I've known when you were mighty blue And hammered me till dawn, Dire poverty! But I would be The last thing you would pawn.
Days debt-accurst! Then at its worst The sky, behold, would clear; A poem sold, the garret cold Would leap to light and cheer.
"You've toted me by shore and sea From Mexico to Maine; From Old Cathay to Mandalay, From Samarkand to Spain.
You've thumped me in the battle's din And pounded me in peace; By air and land you've lugged me and Your shabby old valise.
"But now my keys no more with ease To your two fingers yield; With years of use my joints are loose, With wear of flood and field.
And even you are slipping too: You're puffy, stiff and grey: Old Sport, we're done, our race is run - Why not call it a day?" Why not? You've been, poor old machine! My tried and faithful friend.
With fingertip your keys I'll flip Serenely to the end.
For even though you're stiff and slow, No other will I buy.
And though each word be wan and blurred I'll tap you till I die.