I was reading the poetry collection, You, by Frank Stanford today and really liked this poem. I hope you enjoy it. WEARINESS OF MEN My grandmother said when she was young The grass was so wild and high You couldn’t see a man on horseback. In the fields she made...
It was late, and the sky had long past burst and cleared into stars when it ran from the trees, like a mass, illuminated into white and fur in the headlights. Its eyes were like two pearls. I watched as it tumbled away into the darkness, that broken filament, and I...