Poetry
THE DESERT
HOT, so very hot.
DRY, so very dry.
THIRST, never ending.
HEAT, never ending.
SHADE, where is it?
TREES, where are they?
The Sun, like a hot hammer
beating down on the anvil
and the anvil is me.
Relentless, so very relentless.
The Desert, you must adapt
to it,
It does not adapt to you.