}
};
And this was a civilization
That came to nothing--he spurned with his toe
The slave-coloured dust. We breathed it in
Thankfully, oxygen to our culture.
Somebody found a curved bone
In the ruins. A kings probably,
He said. Imperfect courtiers
We eyed it, the dropped kerchief of time.
Ruins
Ronald Stuart Thomas
(1)
Poem topics: culture, time, dust, bone, slave, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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