04-26-2018, 10:35 PM
Wonderful Things
We see nothing but sand. Sand
by the bucketful, by the broken-back
weight of each days' labour.
Piastres for our pain, water
measured by the warm mouthful,
sun baking us black as bread,
and we work, and pray, and work.
Sand gives way to stone, to steps,
to the dry-mouthed hope of something
more; that fortune has favoured us.
Swept aside like dust, we understand
the Effendi's reply and rejoice, unseen.
.
We see nothing but sand. Sand
by the bucketful, by the broken-back
weight of each days' labour.
Piastres for our pain, water
measured by the warm mouthful,
sun baking us black as bread,
and we work, and pray, and work.
Sand gives way to stone, to steps,
to the dry-mouthed hope of something
more; that fortune has favoured us.
Swept aside like dust, we understand
the Effendi's reply and rejoice, unseen.
.