A hundred and forty feet below,
Tones of tan and brown are seen
Under light they've never known.
Tall rocks stand next to short rocks
pausing, waiting for inspection
Constantly grooming, adding to their shining coats
Their feet stay anchored with a mighty stance
Their arms stretched taut, reaching for the heavens
They whisper with drips all the way down to the cold floor
There is a breath that blows, some monster deep
Mother Nature herself, allowing the ground to weep
Cold tears cleanse the pillars, bringing color; life
There is a last glitter of mica in the bright
The light goes out, the footsteps fade
The mutters go on while darkness reigns.