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