Prejudice by Charlotte Perkins Stetson

I was climbing up a mountain path,
With many things to do,
Important business of my own,
And other people's too,
When I ran against a Prejudice
That quite cut off the view.
My work was such as could not wait,
My path quite clearly showed;
My strength and time were limited;
I carried quite a load,
And there that bulking Prejudice
Sat all along the road.
So I spoke to him politely,
For he was huge and high,
And begged that he would move a bit,
And let me travel by—
He smiled, but as for moving—
He didn't even try.
And then I reasoned quietly
With that colossal mule;
The time was short, no other path,
The mountain winds were cool—
I argued like a Solomon,
He sat there like a fool.
Then I flew into a passion,
I danced and howled and swore;
I pelted and belaboured him
Till I was stiff and sore;
He got as mad as I did—
But he sat there as before.
And then I begged him on my knees—
I might be kneeling still,
If so I hoped to move that mass
Of obdurate ill-will—
As well invite the monument
To vacate Bunker's Hill!
So I sat before him helpless,
In an ecstasy of woe—
The mountain mists were rising fast,
The sun was sinking slow—
When a sudden inspiration came,
As sudden winds do blow.
I took my hat, I took my stick,
My load I settled fair,
I approached that awful incubus,
With an absent-minded air—
And I walked directly through him,
As if he wasn't there!