Yellow the pueblo, Sun! Tanoa squats with her clay, kneading, Coiling rope on rope of rich red earth, Pinching, molding. O Sun, dry the tall olla! Tanoa's eager brown hands are waiting, Mixing chalk and water, pointing Her yucca brush. A good urn like Tanoa's Must sell for much gold, considering What Those Above gave for the making To a woman. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GARDEN AGAIN by KAREN SWENSON RICH DAYS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE TRAIL OF NINETY-EIGHT by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 7. ON THE USE OF POETRY by MARK AKENSIDE SAY NO MORE OF ME by ANNA EMILIA BAGSTAD ELEGY WRITTEN IN SPRING by MICHAEL BRUCE |