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Unread 05-01-2002, 09:55 AM
Tom Jardine Tom Jardine is offline
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Join Date: Apr 2002
Location: San Antonio
Posts: 1,501
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And here is one of them: (for readers who may not have access to a copy)

Arrowhead Hunting

The land is full of what was lost. What's hidden
Rises to the surface after rain
In new-ploughed fields, and fields stubbled again;
The clay shards, foot and lip, that heaped the midden.

And here and there a blade or flakes of blade,
A patient art, knapped from a core of flint,
Most broken, few as coins new from the mint,
Perfect, shot through time as through a glade.

You cannot help but think how they were lost:
The quarry, fletched shaft in its flank, the blood
Whose trail soon vanished in the antlered wood,
Not just the meat, but what the weapon cost--

O hapless hunter, though your aim was true--
The wounded hart, spooked, fleeting in its fear--
And the sharpness honed with longing, year by year
Buried deeper, found someday, but not by you.

A. E. Stallings
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