The Unknown Travelers

Lugged to the gray arbor,
I have climbed this snow-stone on my face,
My stick, but what, snapped the avalanche
The air filled with slowly falling rocks

Breathed in deeply--arrived,
The white room, a table covered
With a towel, mug of ice--fear
Among the legs of a chair, the ashman,
Purple and gray she starts upright in her chair.

Autor: John Ashbery