What’s that that is nearing, so long and so gray?
’Tis a palm tree, I’ll warrant, so large and so lean,
That it o’ershadows all palm trees that e’er I have seen.
O brother, good brother, it stops and is still;
White clouds are above it, they beckon and fill;
Two sticks running upward are covered with vines,
And a humming resounds like the wind when it whines.
O brother, good brother, a puff of white smoke
Rolls upward and onward—a voice surely spoke,
’Tis the speech of God Tezcal, he’s calling aloud,