The Sad Wolves
Burning in the sapphires- I have plow shares to hold,
And the constancy in the infancy of this form
That burns the coal cinders for the muse,
While out there the trains ride high upon the levies,
And the nocturnal blooms look up and seem to whisper,
And gossip about the school children who have already
Passed into the grave;
And the Mexican mothers who have two children but
No husbands,
They pass across too making the diminutive orchestras of
Music boxes,
And the sad wolves howl: and the sad wolves sing.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Added by Poetry Lover
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