There sandy seems the golden
And golden seems the sandy plain.
No habitation meets the
Unless in the horizon rim,
Some halfway up the limestone wall,
That spot of black is not a
Or shadow, but a cavern hole,
Where someone used to climb and
To rest from his besetting fears.
I see the callus on his
The disappearing last of
And of his race starvation slim,
Oh years ago - ten thousand years.
