Dylan Thomas, Gyps.

Do not whip scared at that Indian Creek, Old cams should catch and grip at climber's flight; Gyps, gyps against the returning work week. Though wise men at rope's

The Chasm of Doom

The stars traced long arcs The coyotes howled in the dark And the spirits came out to play. Between great granite stones Haunted by the wind's quiet moans Went we, somewhere