A Short History of the Republic

The great migration had passed
like a dream retreating westward;
a green serpent of the wind
was sleeping in the wagon ruts.

The ocean thundered a welcome
at evening. Here and there
a lonely figure stood out against
a horizon already darkening
with the ominous shadow of myth.

Copyright © 2004 John Haines All rights reserved
from Beloit Poetry Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission