EMPTY battlefields keep their phantoms. Grass crawls over old gun wheels And a nodding Canada thistle flings a purple Into the summer's southwest wind, Wrapping a root in the rust of a bayonet, Reaching a blossom in rust of shrapnel. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VARIATIONS: 15 by CONRAD AIKEN ARMOR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON YOUR WORLD by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON VASHTI by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE FEAST OF LIGHTS by EMMA LAZARUS DOMESDAY BOOK: GEORGE JOSLIN ON LA MENKEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |