My brain is a desert
Today;
I can’t lie.
There’s
nothing to write of,
Although
I can try.
The
walk by the river?
The
foods I did eat?
The
book I just finished?
The
crossword complete?
The
shoes I discarded
Since
new ones arrived?
The
plants freshly watered,
Surprised
they’ve survived?
I
guess that the desert
Some
cacti call home
And
that is the reason
I’ve
written this poem.
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