On The Cattle Drive Poem by Robert Rorabeck
On The Cattle Drive
On the cattle drive we called someone boss:
The cook carried a bed frame with four knobs
Made of brass;
And it was only the sky that moved:
Moved, moved like a flag at high mast-
The flag of country of only one beautiful
Color: It was the place where in her tiny city,
Her eyes looking up from the table
Met the horizon
And defeated it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/26/2026 8:56:21 AM # rel_20260825T124344Z_022792b
This is absolutely brilliant! Off the scale.