poetry contest

the old west, the old time
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
often is it not so?
it was a tall young oysterman
it tells of good old times
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
awful truths these be
if it
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
rose and amber was the sunset on the river
rocked in the cradle of the deep
last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
i saw the clouds among the hills