HOT gold runs a winding stream on the inside of a green bowl.
Yellow trickles in a fan figure, scatters a line of skirmishers, spreads a chorus of dancing girls, performs blazing ochre
evolutions, gathers the whole show into one stream, forgets the past and rolls on.
The sea-mist green of the bowl’s bottom is a dark throat of sky crossed by quarreling forks of umber and ochre and
yellow changing faces.

Added: Feb 4 2004 | Viewed: 2653 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Carl Sandburg
Poem: 5. Crucible
Volume: Smoke and Steel
- V. Mist Forms
Year: Published/Written in 1922
Poem of the Day: Mar 17 2008
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