Tuesday, October 16, 2018

nary

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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