If I were a camel, do you know just what I'd do?
I'd pad across the desert with my master at my mane,
Packing loads of water and other precious things,
Leaving footprints unfollowed for the transience of them.
If I were a camel, I'd shit right where I stand.
Waste, not so much discarded as left for other hands,
Made useful by necessity lest hunger come to them.
If I were a camel, I'd know just where I stand.
I would live without fear but for the master's boot,
Which kicks with knowing rhythm, and in that, fear is moot.
My fear would be without ground, as sand is through a hoof,
And slips away with strong winds to blind the starry roof.
If I were a camel, I'd know what I had done,
A life of taking precious things to places which become
Familiar to my unshod legs. Peace for mind and soul,
Until death finds me old and worn and takes this dreary one.
I would lay down one last time and close my sleepy eyes,
And dream of sinking in the sand, a pyramid of bone.
If I were a camel, I'd watch you from on high,
And walk the line between design and natural sandstone.