The Desert is a pretty place,
it’s shrubs & bushes fill the plains.
As the sun rises it starts
heating the ground;
It’s like an oven
baking the ground.
It holds a mystic
beauty –
One that’s all it’s own;
It can’t be captured
by anything –
Even pictures do it no justice.
I hate the desert,
but it’s got a mystic image –
in it’s romantic time of day.
When the moon rises
full –
it washes the land in
bright pale light.
wil becker
1995.01.24
