He is young. The father is dead. Outside, a cold November night, the mourners' cars are parked upon the lawn; beneath the porch light three brothers talk to three sons and shiver without knowing it. His mind's all black thickets and blood; he knows flesh slips quietly off the bone, he knows no last looks, that among the profusion of flowers the lid is closed to hide what no one could bear -- that metal rends the flesh, he knows beneath the white-pointed creatures, stars, that in the distant talk of brothers, the father is dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUNDAY NIGHT by LOUIS UNTERMEYER LITANY by ROBERT GRANT (1785-1838) ELEGIAC SONNET: 2. WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF SPRING by CHARLOTTE SMITH THOREAU by AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT SEVEN SAD SONNETS: 2. THE OTHER ONE COMES TO HER by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS |