Many have died here, numerous as the leaves,
On the Desert Willow.
Maybe that is what her leaves are, souls on their way,
To find their God.
There is no moisture to be seen here,
In the morning the few drops of dew are quickly,
Taken by the denizens of this lonely, arid land.
What they don’t get is taken by the scrub bushes,
And cactus that abound,
But most of it just goes back up into the blue,
Unforgiving sky.
Not even a dropp of sweat can stay long on your skin,
The desert takes all moisture, as surely as the,
Burning sun rises over the mountains in the east.
There is no moisture to be seen at all,
But it is in the sand, but too far down to help you.
The cholla, and Yucca’s make the best of a bad situation,
And they never complain.
Not a single dropp of sweat will linger,
The hot Santana winds from the west,
Strip you of every single drop, to feed their desert God.
This is the place that holds such a mystique over me,
And it always calls to me,
Return, return, I await your return, you are mine oh man,
I am your destiny.
9/10/11 Alton Texas
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