Summer Holiday

  by Robinson Jeffers

   When the sun shouts and people abound

   One thinks there were the ages of stone and the age of

   bronze

   And the iron age; iron the unstable metal;

   Steel made of iron, unstable as his mother; the tow-

   ered-up cities

   Will be stains of rust on mounds of plaster.

   Roots will not pierce the heaps for a time, kind rains

   will cure them,

   Then nothing will remain of the iron age

   And all these people but a thigh-bone or so, a poem

   Stuck in the world's thought, splinters of glass

   In the rubbish dumps, a concrete dam far off in the

   mountain......



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