The scenic view
Has diminished once again
Undone by a passing flicker
And the final gusts
In close pursuit
Cradled in desolation
I am doomed to conspire
To conceive tomorrow’s plains
Of vibrant green
And meandering veins of blue
Shall it come to pass
In these infertile moments
Shall its roots sprawl in defiance
And triumph over the dust
The mind strains
But the cause is all for naught
And the moments defer
Like herds at a drover’s call
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