The sky is red
Another night is gone
The silver-sheeted dew
Lies on the lawn
But there are patches
Of crushed dewless grass
Imprinting the footsteps
That nightly pass
On the day 1 see the trace
Of the farers’ feet
They are gone- gone away
Elsewhere to meet
On the hill there are scratches
Of fingers and toes
Unfamiliar name
In straggling rows.
They are gone-gone away
Their voices are still
Their steps I find
Their nerves I feel
They stamped on this earth
This mud they priest
Now they are safe
In some cosign of rest.
Their aimless sprawling feet
Their flickering brain
Have gained the sphere
Above the strain.