The Sleepers

The sleepers sleep beneath the stone
They do not answer mortal calls
They hear a music all their own
Composed of distant waterfalls,
Of earthquakes otherwise unfelt,
Of oozings from the nether deep
And glaciers creaking as they melt
During the dark eternal sleep.
But as they listen to the dark
Their minds, unconscious and unknowing,
Slowly expand and make their mark
On rock about them ever-flowing.
The land is shaped and wrought, 'tis said
By those who sleep beyond the dead.