This poem is reminiscent of the way my own mind works at three in the morning. Occasionally insightful, but dreadfully confusing to everyone but the originator. Surprisingly enough, it seems to me to be a testament to normalcy in the midst of circumstances that could be seen as dreadfully bizarre. Most humans are very good at adjusting to circumstances, despite how abnormal they might appear to be. However, some people are incapable of living in the future, and instead live haunted by the white night-gowns of what used to be.
One of our assignments was to google the phrase “catching tigers in red weather.” However, I did not find any articles that appeared to be relevant. There is a book by the same title, but it doesn't seem to be what we were supposed to look for. Hopefully Professor Sexson will shed some light on the issue in class today.
The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches tigers
In red weather.
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