One Of Many Treasures Poem by Leland D'Elormie

Pockets of heaven,
Often hold,
Fantastic treasures,
I can tell of one.

Beyond the hillside,
Rolling green,
Or red in Autumn,
Sits a mound of stone.

Above that quarry,
Wherein jewels,
Of every color,
Glow with dazzling sheen,

Inside the vaulted,
Firmament,
Above that mountain,
And its golden pools,

Giants of twilight,
Lean upon,
The starlit cirrus,
With their elbows bent.

Their prayers drift softly,
By the moon,
Like purple incense,
Swirling first, then gone.

They push the numbers,
On still air,
I watch them work from,
Up in my balloon.

They push the numbers,
Building sums,
Arrange the cosmos,
With the least of care,

And no attention,
Do they pay,
To my small vessel,
Dancing at their thumbs,


On certain evenings,
As they play,
Great storms are conjured,
Skies churn black and gray,

A shepherd's family,
Far below,
May on those nights be,
Struck and killed away.

Giants of twilight,
Do not sigh,
At all this carnage,
They just sit and glow,

And push the numbers,
While they hum,
For years they've done it,
Never knowing why.