The man speaks to stones and bones,
no snow, no snow.
He speaks to trees and memories,
of his covetous story.

Once, two ladies came to his hut.
They were barefoot;
their small feet stirred no dust.
And they were besotted.

The first one was handsome
and offered him a long life of good yields,
bright eyelids, immense deeds.
The second one was equally handsome,
but offered him only grave moons,
suffering, unanswerable riddles.

The man thought and thought,
'They must be serpents,' he concluded,
'and this is a staged test.
I shall choose suffering
and be praised for my fortitude.'

The second lady laughed,
open-mouthed.
The first lady, Virtue herself,
felt slighted.

The man speaks to stones and bones,
of his covetous story.
He speaks to trees and memories,
no snow, no snow.