Someone else

Narrow roads on which
Kings once upon a ' trot;
And the dry river,
Stops, like a flag at windless
Half mast-

Oh! a little water,
Not plenty, was all we asked.
Damned, dammed,
No winds blow with 'em
Carrying clouds to shed,

And the rusty brown graze,
Flattened, all but a swallow to look,
And kites to circle over
The toil- recoiled,
Spun into a chest,
Buried with knots
Of safe harbour,
From times of prosper.

The long road,
Savvy not a bend;
Whispers of a strange daughter,
The anklet of war
And deep burnt scar,
What do you want to be?

And a summer shall follow.
It will burn,
It will sweat out
In ignominy of heated rage;
It will kill the sacred mornings,
The dreams of childhood,
And make you walk out as
Not young any more,
Into that which holds none,
Only that which makes
You seem someone else.