Arid, sandy dunes are all that can be seen,
Bleak, wind-formed mounds, with nothing in between.

Corn-colored grains of sand cover every inch of ground,
Dusty, hazy air stifles everything around.

Everything is quiet, not a sound is heard,
Forever sealed in stillness, not a thing is stirred.

Getting to my feet again, I start to travel on,
Heat haze shivers wetly, bending the horizon.

I look all around me, and spy other living things:
Jerboa rats hop along, a lonely sandgrouse sings.

Kicking up clouds of dust, I cross that desert land,
Longing desperately for water, but I find only sand.

Mirages form water holes, at the bottom of each hill,
None of them are real, though; my throat is parched until. . .

Oasis, sweet heaven! I drink to heart's content,
Pouring water on my head, then collapsing wholly spent.

Quietly the sun sets, I watch it till it's gone,
Reaching the decision, that I must start out anon.

Standing slowly upright, I begin to journey forth,
Toward the distant mountains that rise up in the north.

Under their great shadows, I stare up at the sky,
Vast, jagged peaks, jut up cruelly high.
With a bracing, deep breath, I start the long ascent,
Xerophytes reach out at me, with sharp, prickling intent.

Yearning for an end, I struggle across the mountains,
Zephyrs swirl, thunder sounds, and finally, it rains.

The End

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