O Warp,
You should have seen Vine crying! The moon, he said,
The silver moon! Just like an onion 'twas
To stir the water in his eyes.
Sollers:
He's left
A puddle of his tears where he was droopt
Over the table.
Vine:
There's to be no ruin? —
But what's the word of a molecatcher, to crow
So ringing over a dowser's word?
Warp:
I'll tell you.
These dowsers live on lies: my trade's the truth.
I can read moles, and the way they've dug their journeys,
Where you'ld not see a wrinkle.
Vine:
And he knows
The buried water.
Warp: