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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 21 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL SIMMENTHAL by FREDERICK WILLIAM HENRY MYERS WINTER: MY SECRET by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE SUBJUGATION OF SWITZERLAND by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH INSCRIPTION FOR AN ICE-HOUSE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD TO MISS F. B. ON ASKING FOR MRS. BARBAULD'S LOVE AND TIME by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |