From the Lucy Poems

She lived unknown it’s true,
yet dead, in fossil bone
she hinted at a dream of us
before tomorrow, names, or home.

The dry and miser earth
hid each scattered bit;
full grown, her skull in both
these cupped hands would fit.

Across volcanic ash
Laetoli footprints show
two adults and a child walked here
three million years ago.

And in the ages passing
since Lucy ceased to be,
her grave was found, and oh,
how wondrous to me!