The Explorers

We are new colonists and we embrace A hostile and unforgiving land. Lay Claim to clay covered gold by grace And the callous palms of tired hands, But the weary lesson lidded, did not Stay night's strife and eyes' sands. We poor Don Quixotes have no Camelot. \We left Paradise, the fruit still sweet Like a piper's note upon our giddy eyes, And edged our sugar hungry teeth On gaudy claims the harsh day denies Reversing us who came our fortunes to reverse On windmills and the roulette of dreams We had the upside down of the Midas curse. Poor Samsons, we, in the litter of our schemes. \I see land beyond forty acres ungiven But I see no mules except for us Who for fabled EL Dorado has striven Conquistadores mired in the plight of dust Our feathers are pluckt by the Atlantic storm And I, here serches the spectra of Job Amidst this new thing without border or norm That consumes us like locust on a withering globe.