Poems that you love

[rowens]

A. R. Ammons poem.


The sap is gone out of the trees
in the land of my birth
and the branches droop
    The rye is rusty in the fields
and the oatgrains are light in the wind
The combine sucks at the fields
    and coughs out dry mottled straw
The bags of grain are chaffy and light

The oatfields said Oh
in the land of my birth
and Oh said the wheatfields as the dusting
combine passed over
and long after the dust was gone
    Oh they said
and looked around at the stubble and straw
The sap is gone out of the hollow straws
and the marrow out of my bones

brittle and dry
    and painful in this land

The wind whipped at my carcass saying
How shall I
    coming from these fields
water the fields of earth
    and I said Oh
    and fell down in the dust