Carefully Check the Records

​Carefully check the records
If you wish to study the mysteries
Of the undulating plains and
Hills. Which hill is a congeries

Of stray rubbish that breaks
The ankles and offends the eye,
And which offers a summit
And a pool reflecting the sky.

Sometimes the circling hawks
Appear to be crows. But so
High, rowing in the currents
Of the sun, in its spangled flow,

If the wind were to cease
How all the light would dim,
How the lizards would dart
Into crevices, dry and grim,

Till you would think that
The heavy dragging of stones
Is the work of your pride, but
It is the echo of dry bones.