Classic Poem

In a field where I revel
There's a gray ledge
That is not a boulder
But the world's edge.
If your eyes are level
With its thatch of moss
Into the star-worlds
You can see across.

In the strange star, Spica,
After sundown,
You can see, turreted,
A sidereal town;
All because mica
And its chipped glints
Gleam across my ledges
Like silver foot-prints.

A rock may be an ingle
And so may a star,
And mica-glints may shingle
Rooves where elves are.