A Field Of Drying Sunflowers** Poem by Neil Young

A Field Of Drying Sunflowers**



Staring at them, these are not
The ones he often spoke about;
Are not like young expectant faces
Sitting cross-legged in assembly
Halls, yawning when the Chaplain
Talks of Easter and of God;

Nor those whose golden heads burn brightly,
Bobbing on vast seas of octarine,
That uniformly bend in prayer,
As once we were expected to;
Blinking with the sunlight's glare
Through morning's woken haze;

But these are drought afflicted refugees,
Frail prisoners of war, contained;
Ephemeral and naked; dry shower heads
Drooping with submissive fear.
Their swan necks hang like unlit streetlamps,
Phantoms no God can revive.

Friday, July 31, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: nature
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success