There will be a rusty gun on the wall, sweetheart, The rifle grooves curling with flakes of rust. A spider will make a silver string nest in the darkest, warmest corner of it. The trigger and the range-finder, they too will be rusty. And no hands will polish the gun, and it will hang on the wall. Forefingers and thumbs will point absently and casually toward it. It will be spoken among half-forgotten, wished-to-be-forgotten things. They will tell the spider: Go on, you're doing good work. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LETTER ON THE USE OF MACHINE GUNS AT WEDDINGS by KENNETH PATCHEN AFTER A JOURNEY by THOMAS HARDY LET THE LIGHT ENTER (THE DYING WORDS OF GOETHE) by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER ONLY WAITING by FRANCES LAUGHTON MACE SOLDIER: TWENTIETH CENTURY by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE MASK OF ANARCHY; WRITTEN ON OCCASION OF MASSACRE AT MANCHESTER by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY OLD SARUM; LINES ON THE CONFERENCE OF THE ENGLISH CHURCH AT SALISBURY by ALICE COLBURN BEAL |