A poet-pilgrim searching for magic,
A single night's pause in his journey's track;
A seeker of lore of epics tragic,
The ruins looked old from his camel's back.
Howling and keening, home of the lizard,
Conclave of dust-daemons bound to this land.
Elder sorc'ries laid down by wizards,
Walls and arches rose from the sand.
Shadows crept evilly from under the stones,
Doubtful things danced in the pregnant night.
Murm'rings enchilled the traveler's bones
So much he did gather his mantle tight.
Next day came nomads with the arid sun,
But the corpse they found made them scream and run.