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User Rating:
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5.7
/10
(48 votes)
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When the sun shouts and people abound
One thinks there were the ages of stone and the age of
bronze
And the iron age; iron the unstable metal;
Steel made of iron, unstable as his mother; the tow-
ered-up cities
Will be stains of rust on mounds of plaster.
Roots will not pierce the heaps for a time, kind rains
will cure them,
Then nothing will remain of the iron age
And all these people but a thigh-bone or so, a poem
Stuck in the world's thought, splinters of glass
In the rubbish dumps, a concrete dam far off in the
mountain...
Robinson Jeffers
| Submitted Date |
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Monday, January 13, 2003 |
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Read poems about / on: concrete, poem, people, mother, sun, summer, world, time, rain, city
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