the world cracks and crumbles
baked by drought and ceaseless sun
her native grasses of more peaceful days
tassels in the wind long gone
dug up for a pasture long past
and now the desert dust blown in
the rain, an inconstant lover
drops by and as soon leaves again
no roots to hold her and nary a soul
save a rustle in the scrub can stay
like the rain, the people gone away
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