LOST in this mountain valley, we have struggled too long for bread. Here corn grows sparse and yellow the valley is too narrow and we have driven Our plows vainly against the flanks of the hill. No use to struggle further, O my brothers: instead lie down together here and rest, and some day when the earth has grown as cold as the dead craters of the moon, these hills will wrinkle like the wrinkles on a forehead. Drawing together somewhat like a finger against a wrinkled thumb, these hills will squeeze the valley out between them. There will be for us magnificent sepulture, O my kin. Cold hills already lie staring down at our cornfields covetously. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CRY WOE, WOE, AND LET THE GOOD PREVAIL, FR. AGAMEMNON by AESCHYLUS EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 19. THE HEART, LOVE'S BUTT by PHILIP AYRES TRIOLET: THOSE VIOLETS BLUE by H. W. BANKS A TRIBUTE TO WILL ROGERS AND WILEY POST by ROSETTA THORSON BEACHLER OUR MORNING GLORY by LEVI BISHOP THE STEALING OF THE MARE; AN ARABIC EPIC OF THE TENTH CENTURY by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |