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The Slave (Free verse) by Bhaskaryya With a plough in his tired hand,
A slave's eyes wander across the hired land
And rests over the lass fair in the end,
Rapt by the sight of the sun, on her golden hair descend.
A soft dream overshadows that weary eye,
But he looks away with a dreary sigh,
For he has learned to yield to fate,
Life for him is a ride from field to crate.
Up the ladder:
To those that would teach poetry
Down the ladder:
Reunion
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.4
Posted: December 22, 2004 3:31 AM PST; Last modified: December 22, 2004 3:31 AM PSTWeighted score: 5.166884 Overall Rank: 5054 Comments:
I agree with Dovina. good poem work on it a little more
Sounds like that neeger wants a leetle white wheestle.
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Line 2 - "And rest"
Ling 3 - "descending."