Miles of sand! — Miles of heat! — Soil effete! — Pine trees only!
Grist for a saw mill, a paper mill, a turpentine still!
Past the weeks when a tiny breeze
Blew dust from trees: nature’s plan,
Enough to fertilize the land itself.
Pine tops sweep the air; unreal
To cool by sound and not by feel.
Sol, relentless, glowers down
On sage grass, dry and flaky brown;
On grasshoppers, too-long baked and sere
To leap away when I come near.
The heatest, hottest time of day is
Appealing in a lonely way;
Strangely silent and undewed;
Paul W. Doster