Song for a Play

Hilda Conkling

 Next Poem          

Soldier drop that golden spear!
Wait till the fires arise!
Wait till the sky drops down and touches the spear,
Crystal and mother-of-pearl!
The sunlight droops forward
like wings.
The birds sing songs of sun-drops.
The sky leans down where the spear stands upward. . .
I hear music . . .
It is the end . .

Next Poem 

 Back to Hilda Conkling

To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.