Waiting
More still than death
That waits a thousand years
In a new-ploughed field
Of up-turned bones;
So will I wait for you
A thousand years.
Poems on the topic: bone
Poems on the topic “bone” on Poets.by.
El Rito de Santa Fe
This valley is not ours, nor these mountains,
Nor the names we give them — they belong,
They, and this sweep of sun-washed air,
Desert and hill and crumbling earth.
To those who have lain here long years
And felt the soak of the sun
Through the red sand and crumbling rock,
Till even their bones were part of the sun-steeped valley;
How many years we know not, nor what names
They gave to antelope, wolf, or bison.
To prairie dog or coyote.
To this hill where we stand,
Or the moon over your shoulder . . .
Let us build a monument to Time
That knows all, sees all, and contains all,
To whom these bones in the valley are even as we are:
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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