Daily Whitman


Cavalry Crossing a Ford

  A line in long array where they wind betwixt green islands,
  They take a serpentine course, their arms flash in the sun—hark to
      the musical clank,
  Behold the silvery river, in it the splashing horses loitering stop
      to drink,
  Behold the brown-faced men, each group, each person a picture, the
      negligent rest on the saddles,
  Some emerge on the opposite bank, others are just entering the ford—while,
  Scarlet and blue and snowy white,
  The guidon flags flutter gayly in the wind.


Posted on 09/01/2015, in literature, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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