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...THE LIFE SO SHORT by EAMON GRENNAN DAWN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE COLOR SERGEANT by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON ON A YOUNG LADY'S SIXTH ANNIVERSARY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ELIZABETH CHILDERS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS BUCOLIC COMEDY: SERENADE by EDITH SITWELL THE DISPUTE OF THE HEART AND BODY OF FRANCOIS VILLON by FRANCOIS VILLON |