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Date Posted: 21:01:14 03/13/01 Tue
Author: David Henry
Subject: Cave

Cave.

The frozen sticks of stalactites hang down in serried rows.
A pool of ink black water mirrors silence as it flows.
A falling droplet ripples it, see how the tiny rings
Turn the standing stalagmites to living moving things.

A picture of an ancient man is painted on the wall
With spear, he minds the water-hole and watches over all.
His watch is long, so straight and strong, he stands so gimlet eyed
He cannot know, nor can he show that all his tribe has died.

For sixty thousand years or more his people were this land
The generations sheltered here, with ochre, made this hand.
The pool has not seen faces for a hundred years
The stalactites just drip their drops like many tiny tears.

David Henry. 30/12/98

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