Tuesday, November 8, 2011


In Search of Eldorado
Our faith in gold, and pearl, and fountains
where youth and manhood are renewed
Was lost in challenging these mountains
of pathless chasms, boulders strewed
to crush our spirits, slow our way,
ice by night and fire by day.

We thought we would have been, by now,
stretched languidly in fragrant grass.
Who could foresee this brooding brow
of overhanging cliff? We pass
against the precipice; the blood
of clinging fingers marks our way
precarious, day after day
threatened by avalanche and flood.

Nor have we found the streets of gold,
but dust, and thorn, and flies that bite,
and eyes that circle us at night,
and we are growing old.

Bruised, we scientists retreat.
The stones of paradise have torn our feet.