The withering sun drops grudgingly, Still clutching mountain edges, Then horses follow winding trails Over blistered desert ledges To idle windmill -- still air, cursed. A dry trough greets their day-long thirst. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LUCASIA, ROSANIA, AND ORINDA PARTING AT A FOUNTAIN by KATHERINE PHILIPS UNDER MY WINDOW by THOMAS WESTWOOD THE WANDERER: PROLOGUE. PART 1 by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON AN OLD FRONT YARD by JESSIE GIDLEY CARTER GARIBALDI IN PIEDMONT by PHOEBE CARY |