The woman who has grown old And knows desire must die, Yet turns to love again, Hears the crows' cry. She is a stem long hardened, A weed that no scythe mows. The heart's laughter will be to her The crying of the crows, Who slide in the air with the same voice Over what yields not and what yields, Alike in spring, or when there is only bitter Winter burning in the fields. @3The Literary Review@1, | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE SUN by HAYDEN CARRUTH THEY HAVEN'T HEARD THE WEST IS OVER by JAMES GALVIN DREAM LIFE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: OAKS TUTT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS IN A BREATH; TO THE WILLIAMSON BROTHERS by CARL SANDBURG |