The Erg and I
The dunes that fill Saharan ergs
Resemble giant coloured bergs
Formed not of years of ice, but sand
That drifts across an arid land.
So fine is every separate grain
It flows, like water down a drain,
And then, storm-scattered wide and far,
Descends in Cornwall on my car.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Jerome Betts would be
pleased to hear them.