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