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Where camels cross across the sands
In hot and dry and desert lands,
Where just to live's a desperate scheme
We watch a fellow, fevered, dream:
Uncontrolled, his limbs, they shake!
On fire, his thirst he cannot slake!
But as he drifts into the dark,
His febrile mind begins to spark
With visions of idyllic zones
Of castles, kings and queens, and thrones,
The yurts of Khans, the tents of sheikhs,
The Romans, Spanish, and the Greeks -!
He stops then, dreams of nature's gifts,
Of mountain ranges, shining cliffs,
Of rivers babbling to the sea,
Of forests, of a single tree.
And then he dreams of something grand -
His one and only lotusland.
As in his mind a shape it takes,
Upon the sand he sharply wakes.
For, though this man is bound to roam -
No single place he calls his own -
He's as content as he can be:
The camels, sand, the heat, and he.
Prompt from 2Cans: Use the words 'febrile' and 'lotusland' in a poem.
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April 27, 2015
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