They walked humbly in the high places
and the curlews announced their coming

The sun beat gold upon their dark heads
and the clouds laid carpet under their feet

Their hands were gifted with blessings of growth
and their mouths uttered the words of beginnings

But the people fled from their coming
and stopped their ears against their pleadings

They hid beneath the black stones
and their children they built into stone walls

For the words of those that came were not heard
and all their blessings were rejected

And the people said one to another
No strangers to our land can bring us good

Then the land was riven with sorrows and angers,
the fields became rank deserts of weeds

The sun beat down on empty high places
and the valleys filled with storm clouds



Ruth Aylett
Illustration: Atlanta Wiggs

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