The Illiterate
by William Meredith

Touching your goodness, I am like a man 
Who turns a letter over in his hand 
And you might think that this was because the hand 
Was unfamiliar but, truth is, the man 
Has never had a letter from anyone; 
And now he is both afraid of what it means 
And ashamed because he has no other means 
To find out what it says than to ask someone. 

His uncle could have left the farm to him, 
Or his parents died before he sent them word, 
Or the dark girl changed and want him for beloved. 
Afraid and letter-proud, he keeps it with him. 
What would you call his feeling for the words 
that keep him rich and orphaned and beloved?