Clouds billow, curling up in wicked waves
Upon a skyline sea of blue and gray,
Then crashing over rolling mountain peaks,
All speckled green with sanded underlay.
The wind beneath the waves collects the sand
And sweeps it down to meet the forest floor.
Endless expanse of empty, sun-soaked plains,
Where mankind’s frantic frenzy looms no more
Against the looming of the open sky.
For who could reach here but the hand of God?
No grasp of man could stretch so wide and far,
No stride of man had strength so long to trod.
And when the sun sinks down behind the hills
And bathes the plains within the blue of night,
Across the land, the waves spit lightening down,
To strike the mountains with a scorching light.

– s. Clark