by Gideon Burton
If no one ever came again so near
these musty caves of limestone rock where drip-
by-drop-by-drip stalactites growing hide,
and pools of water mineraled and clear
keep blackly mute and still; and if no bats
in huddled dirty masses clenched the walls,
and if no crevices made homes for rats
or thirsty snails -- this silent tomb would call
to me to wander blind and feeling through
its passages, to pause and wait for one
more drop of liquid time to sound, or to
await the creep of crystals where they're hung.
Descend with me, in covert depths go down.
We’ll rest with time where timeless quiet drowns.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - Erik K Veland
Okay, you can go into the cave. Just don't do so wearing a red shirt. Remember all those lessons Star Trek taught you about caves. If you want to come out alive, wear gold. Preferably a little torn to show off your rippling muscles.
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