Never have I been so much alone — I tried to think of my knowledge, but it was a squirrel's heap of winter nuts. There was no strength in my knowledg… - Stephen Vincent Benét

The time is — time. The place is anywhere. The voices speak to you across the air To say that once again a child is born. A child is born.

How shall I tell what I saw? The towers are not all broken — here and there one still stands, like a great tree in a forest, and the birds nest high. But the towers themselves look blind, for the gods are gone. I saw a fishhawk, catching fish in the river. I saw a little dance of white butterflies over a great heap of broken stones and columns. I went there and looked about me — there was a carved stone with cut — letters, broken in half. I can read letters but I could not understand these. They said UBTREAS. There was also the shattered image of a man or a god. It had been made of white stone and he wore his hair tied back like a woman's. His name was ASHING, as I read on the cracked half of a stone. I thought it wise to pray to ASHING, though I do not know that god.

Outcasts of war, misfits, rebellious souls, Seekers of some vague kingdom in the stars — They hide out in the hills and stir up trouble, Call themselves prophets, too, and prophesy That something new is coming to the world, The Lord knows what! <p> Well, it's a long time coming, And, meanwhile, we're the wheat between the stones.