Hot gold runs a winding stream on the inside of a green bowl.
Yellow trickles in a fan figure, scatters a line of skirmishes, spreads a chorus
of dancing girls, performs blazing ochre evolutions, gathers the whole show into
one stream, forgets the past and rolls on.
The sea-mist green of the bowl's bottom is a dark throat of sky crossed by
quarreling forks of umber and ochre and yellow changing faces.
Crucible
Carl Sandburg
(1)
Poem topics: dark, sea, sky, gold, throat, chorus, green, yellow, stream, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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