An Acrostic Challenge

Arid now, once fertile,
Navajo lands of old,
Call to the ancient Spirits
In whispering words, not bold.
Enjoining them to listen,
Not forsake them as before;
Telling of the wonders,

Belonging to days of yore.
“Open your ears and listen,
Don’t turn our words to dust.
I cannot call out clearly, but
Entreat you now I must! The
Silence is overwhelming

Behind these walls of clay, and
Every cliff and river bed
Grieves for that long gone day. They
Ask to go back to that time, when
Nature had just begun,

To see again the people, and make
Old rivers run”

“’Tis not our place to do this thing;
Why do you ask us now?
It is not within our power, and
Such things we can’t allow.
They over-used this land we gave,

And killed the life there in it.
No one now can bring it back;
Dessicated is its spirit.

Desert land this will remain, for
Ages still to come, and
No one but the snakes
Can hear the ancient, dusty drum.
Every man who enters will

Incite wrath from those who’ve gone.
Ne'er more will children play here,

‘Tis Death alone carries on!”
Heartless seemed the Spirits;
Every wish they must deny,

When dusty bodies
In the winds do twist,
Never more to
Dance with the sky.