Am meisten gelesen ▸
Shenandoah
In the Shenandoah Valley, one rider gray and one rider
blue, and the sun on the riders wondering.
Piled in the Shenandoah, riders blue and riders gray,
piled with shovels, one and another, dust in the
Shenandoah taking them quicker than mothers take
children done with play.
The blue nobody remembers, the gray nobody remembers,
it's all old and old nowadays in the Shenandoah.
And all is young, a butter of dandelions slung on the
turf, climbing blue flowers of the wishing woodlands
wondering: a midnight purple violet claims the sun
among old heads, among old dreams of repeating
heads of a rider blue and a rider gray in the
Shenandoah.