Yellow the pueblo, Sun! Tanoa squats with her clay, kneading, Coiling rope on rope of rich red earth, Pinching, molding. O Sun, dry the tall olla! Tanoa's eager brown hands are waiting, Mixing chalk and water, pointing Her yucca brush. A good urn like Tanoa's Must sell for much gold, considering What Those Above gave for the making To a woman. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE BOY LOST, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE EVENING HYMN by REGINALD HEBER MURMURINGS IN A FIELD HOSPITAL by CARL SANDBURG DOT LONG-HANDLED DIPPER by CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS MOTHER HEART by NELLIE COOLEY ALDER |