Desert
I look out on this desert brown
In a cool of an evening breeze
And thought no living creature found
Could there sustain a life of ease.
Parched and scorched, full of sand
Dry as powder, chalk or dust
Not fit for beast, fowl or man
Not one thing there for to lust.
Yet, immature blooms on gray sage
Glisten in insipid paling light.
It relished here for an age
With its pungent scent and sight.
Through sparking air an insect flew
On buzzing wing around a bloom,
A desert flower of beauty true
In this cathedral of unsealed room.
As departing sun began to sit
Color filled clean desert air
I wondered at God's own wit,
That He gave such beauty there.
Copyright © Mike Samford | Year Posted 2007
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