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Abandoned Land
Beneath a restless, shifting wasteland
lies a figure whose feet forms twin peaks.
Steady breaths decide the direction of the wind
and all the clouds of dust and loose fur.
He admires his blanketed sand,
and wonders of the presence of hilltops,
trees and brush, valleys and sloping mounds;
all such things that add beauty to landscape.
Before there had been such smooth ground to tread,
with a bronze, descending curvature,
and just after the quake had taken it away,
there had been a pale garden that grew wild
and wilted in a matter of weeks.
Its flowers held such value for the figure,
and he marveled at their sight and scent.
But as they fell decrepit and rotten,
he released his grip from their stems,
and wished better for their seedlings elsewhere.
He attempts to find sleep in the heat of his desert
and seeks a good shelter from the night's savage chill,
but he knows at his leisure that none may soon come
to plant an oak for shading him,
or to settle close to bathe him in warmth.
