lets write poems

For the tablet had shattered,
And the windows had broken
The sun-vulture crept in the chamber

Down at the basin its beady eyes stared
The powder and dust and puddle of water
The fragments of the world it had previously kept
In the small bowl upon the altar

The culprit was nearby, it could sense
Hiding, yet fearless in the corner
With a shout, they ran, seeing the vulture
And sprinted out to the cave's border

The prophet of old, the very first of their own,
Had escaped at last that which was foretold and shown.