EMPTY battlefields keep their phantoms. Grass crawls over old gun wheels And a nodding Canada thistle flings a purple Into the summer's southwest wind, Wrapping a root in the rust of a bayonet, Reaching a blossom in rust of shrapnel. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CELSUS AT HADRIAN'S VILLA by EDGAR LEE MASTERS GEIST'S GRAVE by MATTHEW ARNOLD ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 109 by PHILIP SIDNEY THE DARK FOREST by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS THE INNOCENT MAGICIAN; OR, A CHARM AGAINST LOVE by PHILIP AYRES THE STEAM-ENGINE: CANTO 9: GREAT WESTERN DAYS by T. BAKER TO A CHILD OF THREE YEARS OLD by BERNARD BARTON |