Cactus and pine: Songs of the Southwest

by Sharlot Mabridth Hall

THE THINKER

He who grasps at the flowers of thought
Oft finds in his eager fingers naught,
But leafless stalks where the blossoms hung,
In some long-lost summer when life was young—
Or at best but a glimmer of thistle down
To sprinkle his hair ’neath the laurel crown.