This broken earth
This tired soil

The winds of dusk are bitter
Hobbled hares limp around gnarled trunks of willow
And the grasses
The great plains
Burn orange

A figure stands on the twilight
Pitching a spire
One red eye gazes from it
The detonator falls
A mountain crumbles

Old wings panic
Twigs are scattered
Claws scratch
Scramble
Push
And the grand lady climbs once more

Once more
Once again
Somewhere new

Behind her a shell cracks
The newborn clambers out
It's chest beats
Down sodden
Some raw cries escape him
But a fine dust settles on his eye