The Old Prison

The rows of cells are unroofed, a flute for the wind's mouth, who comes with a breath of ice from the blue caves of the south. O dark and fierce day: the wind like an angry bee hunts for the black honey in the pits of the hollow sea. Waves of shadow wash the empty shell bone-bare, and like a bone it sings a bitter song of air. Who built and laboured here? The wind and the sea say -Their cold nest is broken and they are blown away- They did not breed nor love, each in his cell alone cried as the wind now cries through this flute of stone.