Beneath me the fissured earth powders barren in my hands;
my taut, dry body knows the earth's pain.
There in the vertical glare of the sun
the bald hill lifts a blanching alkali spot;
my soul is like that in its desertness.
Far across these heated plains the deep sea calls to me.
Madness is cheated once more.
Some day the sea's distant voice may not move me to tears.
___Jessica Royer Crafton
Contemporary Kansas Poetry
Helen Rhoda Hoopes
(Kansas City: Joseph D. Havens Company. 1927)