Drifting, drifting through this sunburt sand,

of how I which to be home again.

Walking through this long, lost, meadow,

of dust and dirt in this barren land.

No sign or thought of the long fellow.

Just the thought of city hustle.

For now there is only an occasional rustle,

of a drifting by tumbleweed.

There goes a mouse around the dust.

Looking for something else to feed,

its little ones eat at must,

or else they will get swallowed upp in the crust,

of red dirt and a sunburt breeze.

This peace is such a warm feeling,

making me miss home no more.

This place would keep some people reeling,

but its making me enjoy it all the more.