IN western fields of corn and northern timber lands, They talk about me, a saloon with a soul, The soft red lights, the long curving bar, The leather seats and dim corners, Tall brass spittoons, a nigger cutting ham, And the painting of a woman half-dressed thrown reckless across a bed after a night of booze and riots. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 1 by CONRAD AIKEN ON THE SALE OF MY FARM by ROBERT FROST HOMING BRAVES by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A SONG OF ETERNITY IN TIME by SIDNEY LANIER OLD TRAILS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |