Farm Exile
I have come out to this strange land
Where there are hills on either hand;
I have seen granite piled as high,
Man lifted, toward a city sky.
And here a river deep and dark
Flows like a drunken pencil mark,
Yet all its waters could be sucked
Through one stupendous aqueduct.
Alien am I, where cedars frown
Thicker than houses of the town;
Alien am I where meadows mock
As flat as roof tops, block on block,
With little mounds that well might be
The sunken graves of Trinity.
Beneath my foot I crush the sod,
It keeps a print of where I trod