Too Late
He dances on the shore,
white shirt in hand,
and waves and waves.
The gold," he cries,
"I.ve found the gold
and ruby stones of deepest dye."
Heedless, the cross-masts
sink from sight.
Salt-water laps the shore.
Tears trickle down his cheeks,
for now he knows the reason why
white bones bestrew the golden strand
And vultures squat
so patiently upon
yonder head of bald-bare rock.
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