The Desert
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Like a morning hag in curlers
Without a trace of makeup on,
Ugly is thy name, O Desert;
A gift from those who know you not.
Show me the glass-eyed towers
That match your crystalline skies.
Show me the fiery tresses
As fair as your rosy clouds at dawn.
The doyens of cosmetics,
With their scientific skills,
Make no blushes that compare
With your evening skies and hills.
Richer than a thousand gardens
Are your flowered plains in Spring;
Lovelier than the splendid robes
Of wise Solomon, the king.
Fort Knox’ gold is a piker’s hoard
Beside your banks of sun-gilt peaks.
The diamonds of Fifth Avenue
Are dull beside your morning dew.
Your pogonip is a blanket
Much cleaner than the smog.
And who would shun the coyote
For a heavy metal lullaby?
Copyright © David Drowley | Year Posted 2018
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