Deep in the country of unbroken clouds,
         The sundry broken crowds
Have wondered for unnumbered years what lies
         Beyond their numbed gray skies.

Some have spun rumors, flimsy as wet straw—
         A peasant weaver saw
Twilled clouds unravel and a golden reed
         Spike earthward at the speed

Of light; a crippled beggar glimpsed bright alms
         Ripple through limpid calms
In cloud-patched sky; a farmer, his untilled
         Acres before him, filled

With joy at sunlit fields of uncracked blue—
         But crack-downs brought them to
Their senses, down to earth, and back to wonder
         Under the reign of thunder.