Poems from a Friend - Parched
Article Index
Page 14 of 31
Parched
These three desperate throats,
in the wake of such a malignant sun,
where
in this endless brown valley
can we find wine?
(These horses are but ashy silhouettes).
What a shabby and dissolute arrangement
has been laid out for us!
Is there left a cool breast
to appeal to?
Oh, our dry and tongueless bellow!