Oh, how gorgeous is the gorge
With jagged insides, and a leprose underside,
Whose dried-up river bed would always search
An exit to release its non-existent slide.
Beneath the low-lying clouds, the kites
Would swoop inside its topsy-turvy arc,
And soar again from its rough bottom to its heights,
Each one rapacious like some winged shark.
The lonely cacti on its craggy walls
Across its spaces to each other nod
As brazen winds inside its limits squall,
Their whooshing flights so harum-scarum and roughshod.
And pasty fogs within its furrow gad
Each morning when the sun is hiding still
To later melt inside the gemstone-clad
And rocky fold, when noon dissolves their chill.
What wrinkled frown of the ages past
Could crease the surface of the Earth like this?
A stony scowl that would later last
Millenia in its cacophonous abyss.
So harsh and yet, so gorgeous is the gorge;
Its grey-toothed edges smiling at the stars
That 'twixt the rocks its craggy pride would forge,
Its bouldered bottom filled with timeless scars.
