Explore "Eau-Forte (F. S. Flint)" by Frank Stuart Flint on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
On black bare trees a stale cream moon / hangs dead, and sours the unborn buds.
Two gaunt old hacks, knees bent, heads low, / tug, tired and spent, an old horse tram.
Damp smoke, rank mist fill the dark square; / and round the bend six bullocks come.
A hobbling, dirt-grimed drover guides / their clattering feet to death and shame.