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Barked trees,

Stood on their thrones of hardness,

While mushy cactus

Stood with prickly threats,

And colored bandanas;

Searching the father

Of a culture

Which gave them stubby limbs

Irregardless of genetics.

A passionless existence,

Too poetic

To be regarded as anything

But a desolate scene,

While kings fall asleep

In a tomb of much appreciated fauna.