Ode to Ethiopia--after Paul Laurence Dunbar

At whose urging rang hammers and smoked forges? Compelled anyway we excursioned out, blacked out, blotted out, over dirty roads. A "bard" sat lute-playing with babies at her foot (lute or dulcimer), an unnamable mountain, we imagined. Kick-starting stones aside for me, she was genial enough as I made tours. Honest I labor. Leisure suits me, affords me honesty, keeps me in labor. At whose anger ram smoke and forces? Maids march down the hill, kicking all in their enlightened sights.