The hills would not tell if King Aha had passed this way
Or Gilgamesh, or Agamemnon
Treading the gravel and sand and dust
Where the wind passed, sweeping
Obliterating marks
No bones to be seen

Nor the fertile swathes, clothed in wheat
Which earth had given, never the work of human hands
Could tell a tale of their sowing
Nor did they await
The caress
Of the reaperman.