Down the long, wide

Sky-horse plough rides,

From one past to another,

Demon-slow and angel-fast,

Droughtbreaker comes:


On electric-jagged legs

Singing thunder,

Bruising heaven.


Big traffic is

On the hoard roads;

I hear the cries of

Passing geese,

But belles will laugh,

Will curtsey and tumble

Before dawn.

And, rest assured,

Full moon will settle

The millpond surface again.