 | New poems by Madison Cawein |  |
THE OX-TEAM
An ox-team, its lean oxen, slow of tread,Weighed with an old-time yoke, creaked heavily
Along the mountain road. Beside it, three
Walked with no word: A woman with bowed head,
A young girl, old before her youth had fled,
Hugging a sleeping baby; near her knee
A gaunt hound trotted.—Any one could see
The wagon held their all, from box to bed.
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And asked their way. Their men had all been killed,—
Father and brother,—at some mountain ball,
This girl the cause: a man had shot them down,
The father of the infant.—As God willed,
They sought another State, and that was all.
| New poems by Madison Cawein | |