Gold is the stubble, Blood-red the buck vine, Proud struts the pheasant, His world is like wine. Flash in the sunlight, Young brilliance in air, Poised for a moment, Then hurtling down there ... Life, scintillating, Meets skill, trained and cold; Dark stains the stubble, Where once it was gold. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POOR DEVIL! by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET CONTRA MORTEM: THE SUN by HAYDEN CARRUTH SYNOPSIS OF A FAILED POEM by JAMES GALVIN OMNIPRESENCE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPRINGTIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EDITH CONANT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |