• Dance, rigour,
    Vigour and Vim,
    Bring life to this arid land,
    Drive, victory,
    Hidden within,
    With footsteps the thunder begins again.

    Red dust and ashes,
    Whispering winds,
    Withering plain without tears or rain,
    Lizards listen and lick their parched lips;
    Waiting to hear the telling drips.

    Snakes slither slicing the sand,
    His rhythm breathes into this arid land.

    A little conundrum I beg you consider:
    Why is that unfed flowers wither
    When separated from their ragged ripe roots,
    When stepped on and starved as little weak shoots.

    What makes the desert do desolate; dry,
    What makes an innocent loving man cry?

    Even the strongest men shrivel to bone,
    Even a dead man is never alone.

    Dance, languid,
    Muster some Vim,
    Dig up your buried past from the sand,
    Failed, hopeless,
    Hidden within,
    What now can bring faith to his arid hand?