Worn rock where granite knuckles show,

Between stone fingers waters fall,

Beneath the bridge at Attical.

Ice carved this land with age-long skill

To leave it empty as the years

Dropped deeper than the world's recall

Beyond the bridge at Attical.

No man can know that springtime earth

Of rain and river, rock and lake,

Unless he stands where sea birds call

Above the bridge at Attical

June 1967