EMPTY battlefields keep their phantoms.
Grass crawls over old gun wheels
And a nodding Canada thistle flings a purple
Into the summer's southwest wind,
Wrapping a root in the rust of a bayonet,
Reaching a blossom in rust of shrapnel.
New Feet
Carl Sandburg
(1)
Poem topics: purple, summer, wind, grass, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about New Feet poem by Carl Sandburg
Best Poems of Carl Sandburg