The sharp cacti are needles in a pin cushion, sticking their needles out to ***** the finger of a helpless person.
The dry, rough ground is a pair of Winter Lips, in need of moisturizing.
The one tree every 50 miles is a rain drop in a drought, treasured and loved by everyone in the desert.
The one of few ponds is a warm, rich, and steamy bath, used so much until it’s gone.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 7:50 PM UTC
The sharp cacti are needles in a pin cushion, sticking their needles out to ***** the finger of a helpless person.
The dry, rough ground is a pair of Winter Lips, in need of moisturizing.
The one tree every 50 miles is a rain drop in a drought, treasured and loved by everyone in the desert.
The one of few ponds is a warm, rich, and steamy bath, used so much until it’s gone.
Request permission to use this poem