randomized

From Google The sun climbs up quite early here For it has no mountains to mount, no buildings to shine through not even trees to filter from The wind comes charging with might making a scandal with land breaking it apart into tiny pieces,  carrying it along, changing its face The rain comes too, sometimes, seldom, does it quench the thirst a thirst of thousands of years, a thirst that remains, much before it has gone Nothing lives long here; nothing, of colour can walk and retain that beauty for long unless you are a cacti and have thorns it's as simple as you dry, you die and get born You will find spirits here though, spirits of old age; the ones who survive, along with the crawlers of the sand, the ones who know the place and call it their own land