The Poetry of
Jack Scott

Purple Mud

It’s sad to see mountains come to their knees
then crawl toward the seas,
grinding and ground,
horizontal hourglass
of centuries and sand
fattening the shorelines,
dilution in the seas.

Atlantis made a purple mud;
royalty hath no privilege
when it’s running out of blood.

If mountains fall
it’s no wonder
nothing stays up at all.

285®Copyright 1972 Jack Scott. All rights reserved.