Ten-seventeen, the numbered label read; Bones of a prehistoric woman, dead Perhaps five thousand dusty years ago; A young one, too, by all the signs we know -- Straight-limbed and strong. I picture her as fair, With leaf-brown eyes and long, thick, sun-flecked hair. The digger called, "An infant by her side!" With expert care his eager fingers pried The fragile bits loose from their red clay bed. "Well, that makes number ten-eighteen," he said. Ages of peace -- and then her sightless eyes Stared up again at Alabama skies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VAQUERO by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER THE TRANSFORMATION OF A TEXAS GIRL by JAMES BARTON ADAMS SONNET: 9 by RICHARD BARNFIELD WHITE BIRCHES by MARY BRADLEY BRAMHALL PLEA FOR TOLERANCE by MARGARET E. BRUNER THE LOVE OF A WOMAN by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR BLANK MISGIVINGS OF A CREATURE MOVING ABOUT IN WORLDS NOT REALIZED: 6 by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH |