I DON'T blame the kettle drums -- they are hungry. And the snare drums -- I know what they want -- they are empty too. And the harring booming bass drums -- they are hungriest of all. ..... The howling spears of the Northwest die down. The lullabies of the Southwest get a chance, a mother song. A cradle moon rides out of a torn hole in the ragbag top of the sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BIT OF SKY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON POSSUM SONG (A WARNING) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE NEW APOCRYPHA: BERENICE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS FROM THE SHORE by CARL SANDBURG THEME IN YELLOW by CARL SANDBURG SONNET: 50 by GEORGE SANTAYANA ADAM AND HIS FATHER by KAREN SWENSON HYBRIDS OF WAR: A MORALITY POEM: 3. THAILALND by KAREN SWENSON |