So warm with subtle life.
Rolling desert hills and splotches of green.
I loved your plains.
Oh, the tanned beauty.

But I, from the north east,
could never predict the drought.
For seasons don't change in the desert,
and rain rarely falls upon the plains.

I was going through the terms.
All the snow, and changing of leaves.
You watched with great admiration.
And your dry surface cracked.
And I knew you could never freeze.