My soul is a dark ploughed field In the cold rain; My soul is a broken field Ploughed by pain. Where grass and bending flowers Were growing, The field lies broken now For another sowing. Great Sower when you tread My field again, Scatter the furrows there With better grain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEVOURER OF NATIONS by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET JOHNNY SPAIN'S WHITE HEIFER by HAYDEN CARRUTH DOMESDAY BOOK: WIDOW FORTELKA by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A POEM FOR MAX NORDAU by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON SONNET; OXFORD, 1916 by GEORGE SANTAYANA |