People, like cattle, Are roped and thrown And branded by Death For his very own. The white-hot iron Of Heaven pressed To quivering thigh And naked breast. And are then turned loose To graze at will From life's arroyo And arid hill. For Death well knows That each shall Come at last To his corral. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD: SONG by OLIVER GOLDSMITH SONNET: WRITTEN ON THE DAY THAT MR. LEIGH HUNT LEFT PRISON by JOHN KEATS WORK by ALEKSANDR SERGEYEVICH PUSHKIN THE DEATH OF HARRISON by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS ON THE ENGINE AGAIN by ALEXANDER ANDERSON |