MigrationRumbling slowly across the land, Turning the soil to dust and sand, The Wagons move, a vibrant trail, A fleet in convoy, under sail. By sun and wind their faces tanned, Following the herd, riders fanned � Out into the barren prairie, Ever alert, always wary. Villages devoid of life, Trampled down, destruction rife, Peasants find their sanctuary, Far beyond the open prairie. Muddied pools and raging rivers, Haruspexes reading livers, Each dictate the Nomadic way, From hour to hour and day by day. Promise of grasses, green and tall, Beckon to the travellers, all, Luring them like a sirens song, To make this journey, however long. |