Pastoral Poem by David Earnhardt
Pastoral
Rating: ★4.0
♡
♥
They stand on boards of rotting porch
still holding hands in withered flesh.
Wind flings her dress side to side.
Hair he has dances on furrows of his forehead.
In the yard the assessor is speaking backward
or something; still...
He doesn't laugh, She doesn't cry...
It's a pity the foreign one knows
no better than to call on ghosts.
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: sad
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
I wrote this poem as a freshman in college, but its imagery still haunts me. I hope that you like it.
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6/27/2025 10:00:17 AM # 1.0.0
