Blossoms of Dust

Even after so much sorrow,
He sings a man’s song.
Full enough of spring,
Dancing from the heavens,
Soothing the parched lips of the land.
The wind takes a rest sometimes,
And after all this,
Daddy still believes in rain.

These trees are thick with blossoms,
Delicate and pinky-white.
My eyes can’t get enough of the sight of them,
How can such a flower find a way to bloom?

It doesn’t swing lightly,
A red dust, like prairie fire,
Our wild hearts pounding, outlined in dust.






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