There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu, There's a little marble cross below the town, There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew, And the yellow god forever gazes down.
I wrote The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God in five hours, but I had it all planned out. It isn't poetry and it does not pretend to be, but it does what it sets out to do.
It is no use describing a house; the reader will fix the scene in some spot he knows himself.
Then India, everyone has his own idea of India.
An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew,'Twas the 'Vengeance of the Little Yellow God'.
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