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High Desert The desert calls to me and I Can turn to memories that lie Well stored forever in my mind. Within the hallways there I find A window opening to show High desert country that I know. A place of beauty in the spring, When rain brings life to everything That clings and grows amidst the sand, The rocks and sage, that make this land. The canyon walls all show a trace Of flooding waters on their face. A scoured line above my head, Where cloudbursts filled each dry creek bed. Old wagon ruts sometimes appear. A remnant of the pioneer, Who crossed this country, headed west, Meeting every rigorous test. The wildlife here amazes me. You'd never think that there would be Such rich assortment, but it's true And other wonders lie here too. The trunks of trees, now turned to stone, Where opalescent hues are shown. The pearlite beds where tears of glass Are trapped within the crumbling mass Of aggregate and can be found Piled in black clusters, on the ground. |
Additional Notes:
aggregate - a mixture of minerals that can be separated.
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