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Posted by DE Navarro


Forum: Global Poetry Community Group


Silhouetted prickly spiked fingers rise up 
into the orange-gray glow of dawn;
gnarled hands from the desert floor reaching...

a solemn ritual of sustenance
for an abstemious few drops of dew
faithful in patient ascetic valor...

alas! the time of monsoon is not yet 
and all cacti must crave their long sought fix 
holding on to a sacred memory...

the illustrious floral explosion
of last year's distant diminishing high. 

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