refining what's in the pit

black dirt red clay we watch the cords stretch out
these are the signs of change or so we're told
the day is warm but that's not why we're bold
those boundaries of detail we shall not flout
up until now all that we thought was doubt
of anything being done till times turned old
no thought of change here expenditures of gold
might or might not have made the worker shout
no name or number given but still the signs
are clearly laid out we've not been deceived
a newer process has begun and at long last
we watch the markings and the taut blue lines
some message it is clear has been received
and emptiness is thrust far to the past
yet omens taken and the dice being cast
the earth no longer clings to the broad tines
the shape of things now passes the conceived
behind us wave the thin but earnest pines
we little know the changes they've perceived
seasons of drought or else the lightning blast
the rumble comes and goes this is the name
of what's long sought-for and the normal flame