Comments about Kenneth Rand
Out from the gloom of the mountain-gorges,
Dark in the glow of the dawn,
See how they scurry like shadow-wrack,
Each in his funeral-cloak of black,
Faint and fade and are gone.
Dancing away down the ribbed ravines,
Chattering ghouls astride the breeze-
Haste, O Beloved, thy weary feet,
Out where the desert and skyland meet,
Merging in mirage-seas.
Beloved, the way was all too long-
(See how they settle around!)
Let the heat-fog's flickering fancy-veil
Cover thy death when the spent limbs fail,
Droop to the sun-baked ground.