The Valley

The Valley, where dead men go to toil and the living go on holiday.

In the Valley march the dunes,

Where ancient fish once had swum;

Where blazing winds play mournful tunes,

And men with mules once had run.

In the Valley thrive the trees

Where once were only mottled husk,

Bourne on man's oasises

O'er ancient bone and mammoth tusk.

In the Valley now we stride

O'er endless webby plains of salt.

We our secrets in the sand confide

And in harsh perfection find no fault.

In the Valley Borax men

Once labored, hard, in agony,

Yet here we are, trapped again

In awe of the Valley's majesty.

In the Valley march the dunes,

Where ancient fish once had swum;

Where blazing winds play mournful tunes,

And men with families now run.

The End

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