Harpocrates – a Poem for Harpo Marx

Harpocrates

 How do I love Harpo Marx?
My word, the ways are many!
(Though words can’t tell the worth of him,
Who never needed any.)

 His language was a woman’s wig,
A pocketful of pasteboard –
That coat concealed a horn, a fish,
Three hundred knives, a washboard.

 His heart revealed his love for wife,
For life, for fun, for fairness,
For family, friends, for four bless’d kids:
All full of love’s awareness –

That every noise he made was smart
And every thing he touched was art.
Groucho wept when Harpo died,
But when he played, the angels cried.

by Marjorie Cardwell

A poem for Harpo Marx

2012

Harpo Marx of The Marx Brothers playing his favorite instrument, the harp.

When Harpo plays his harp…