Classic poem of the day
The Tarahumara Indians have come down,
sign of a bad year
and a poor harvest in the mountains.
Naked and tanned,
hard in their daubed lustrous skins,
blackened with wind and sun, they enliven
the streets of Chihuahua,
slow and suspicious,
all the springs of fear coiled,
like meek panthers.
Naked and tanned,
wild denizens of the snow,
they—for they thee and thou—
always answer thus the inevitable quest......
Member poem of the day
Hissing, sighing through the leaves.
Dripping, drumming on the rusty tin roof.
The bruised sky envelopes and subdues,
Chilled to the bone. I stand alone.
Echo of laughter, echo of pain.
Ah, the old ghost returns once again.
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