A bloom, crimson
in the white sand.
A dune driven
by Time's hand.
Empty space,
traces bland.
Winds race
and they stand-
a log of life,
a lip-less face.
in the white sand.
A dune driven
by Time's hand.
Empty space,
traces bland.
Winds race
and they stand-
a log of life,
a lip-less face.
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