the rarest flower still stands despite an endless drought.
she, a beauty
beyond words and without comparison.
she drinks the sweet dew of evening
she bathes the cracked and dusty land with her tears
bluish hues and tones of red adorn her desert palace
permeating her soul with comfort and warmth
once more she weeps in ecstasy at the beauty of isolation
the hills mourn and stars cry out
with awe, she groans from her overflowing heart
though she sighs every so softly
she need not worry of expressing her desire
her existence, her inescapable beauty
nourishes, satiates, satisfies the land
what once was weary now knows no suffering
but for the lack of her smile
this rarest flower
fresh, unfaded, and flourishing.
written by Daniel Dessinger to Heather Alger