Bottle Glass Bay

On Bottle Glass Bay,

where the wild moon shone,

and the sand lay.

A horn blew loud,

forgetting the call,

it blew again.

Piercing the sound,

of which there was naught.

Bottle Glass Bay came alive with sound,

though nothing answered.

A call into the dark,

futile cries.

A crack came,

an answer to the cry.

A foot wandered,

upon snowy hills of grain,

blowing away. 

The answer to the cry,

came from the caller.

Upon his feet came that conversation.