Limbs intertwined isn't enough,
For this kind of twisting vine.
Where substance is the water,
To this fertilized soil.

Forming cracks from the lick,
Of dry desert sunlight.
Where once a great lake roamed,
But was used up in his youth.

Orange warmth felt nice,
Until it turned everything brown.
The lush vine died without the lake,
And the sun had no one to entertain.