William Stanley Braithwaite

(1872-1962 / United States)

Ironic: Ll.D. - Poem by William Stanley Braithwaite

There are no hollows any more
Between the mountains; the prairie floor
Is like a curtain with the drape
Of the winds' invisible shape;
And nowhere seen and nowhere heard
The sea's quiet as a sleeping bird.

Now we're traveling, what holds back
Arrival, in the very track
Where the urge put forth; so we stay
And move a thousand miles a day.
Time's a Fancy ringing bells
Whose meaning, charlatan history, tells!


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 22, 2010



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