I dream of whispering sands
Stretching long and far
Pressed against the walls
Of dusty reeds and grass.
I search high and low
For climbing dunes
And loathing waters
Created by whistling winds.
Causiously, i rest
Beneath arid skies
Hearing the deafening
Cries of camel crickets.
Encroaching on the coast
Of crystal plains i now lay
With open arms awaiting
The mighty crimson grub.
Rather fringe or bulge
I demand claim to what
Lies beyond the horizon, absit invidia.