Squatting, serious, His small hand locked on my middle finger, He digs a shallow hole in the earth, buries His "wishing stone," covers it up, Forgets it, maybe. What will he find if he ever comes back to this place? He is older Coarser perhaps his hands already Hardened from holding a gun maybe from stroking the wrong women From labor and money. If he remembers this place the secret Place he has hidden his luck, by the blasted tree by the hidden Pool, by the rock, by the river, in the hollow hill of a cave -- Whatever he finds, it will be his no longer. These little boys can never, never return. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOLD-OF-OPHIR ROSES by GRACE ATHERTON DENNEN IN FLANDERS FIELDS by JOHN MCCRAE SONNET: 146 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE A RHYME by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE FRATER AVE ATQUE VALE by ALFRED TENNYSON REBECCA; WHO SLAMMED DOORS FOR FUN AND PERISHED MISERABLY by HILAIRE BELLOC |