The page is bare as a most barren waste
That did never find the time to have taste
In the glorious waters that come from sky
To saturate all the ground that lies nigh.
The flowers don't bloom because of the stint
Pulled off by one Loki, who gave a hint
To nature and made everything much worse
Than it had to be; this must be his curse.
That the air should wait to give it's fair breeze
Until mankind should stumble to it's knees,
That the ground should sink the moisture it made
For the sky lit march, the great promenade.
So by his suggestions we are now cold
From lacking the water that makes us bold.
A Desert in the Desert, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012
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