New Feet
EMPTY battlefields keep their phantoms.
Grass crawls over old gun wheels
And a nodding Canada thistle flings a purple
Into the summer’s southwest wind,
Wrapping a root in the rust of a bayonet,
Reaching a blossom in rust of shrapnel.
Poem by
Carl Sandburg
Biography |
Poems
| Best Poems | Short Poems
| Quotes
|
Email Poem |
Summaries, Analysis, and Information on "New Feet"
More Poems by Carl Sandburg