A Cliff Dwelling Poem By Robert Frost,
There sandy seems the golden sky,
And golden seems the sandy plain.
No habItation meets the eye
Unless in the honzon nm,
Some halfway up the limestone wall,
That spot of black is not a staIn
Or shadow, but a cavern hole,
Where someone used to climb and crawl
To rest from his besettIng fears.
I see the callus on his sole
The disappearing last of him
And of his race starvation slim,
Oh, years ago-ten thousand years.