He seems a sunburnt page ripped out From sign scrawled prairie lore, Although he's lost his primal clout And bought things in a store. Still moccasined, he scrapes along The sidewalk randomly. He'd be more noble with his song Of war-trails echoing free. I see him pause. His sunken eyes Peer through a plated glass. Gowns—prairie fire! Big surprise! I sniff. He smells of grass. O men of learning! What a job Of up-lift here is done. You thought to stir a deathless throb Where ages say—a gun. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A NYMPH'S PASSION by BEN JONSON A LITTLE CHILD'S HYMN; FOR NIGHT AND MORNING by FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE THE VETERAN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HELEN KELLER WITH A ROSE by FLORENCE EARLE COATES BIRD OF PARADISE by HILDA CONKLING LIGHT AND DARKNESS (2) by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES |