twilight.Â

the rarest flower stands defiantly despite the endless drought.Â

she, of ravishing elegance,Â

beyond words of description and without comparison,Â

she drinks the sweet dew of evening.Â

she bathes the cracked and dusty land with her tears.Â

bluish hues and tones of red adorn her desert palace,Â

permeating her soul with comfort and warmth.Â

once more she weeps in ecstasy at the beauty of isolation.Â

the hills mourn and stars cry out!Â

with awe, she groans from her overflowing heart.Â

though she sighs every so softlyÂ

she need not worry of expressing her desire.Â

her existence, her inescapable beautyÂ

nourishes, satiates, satisfies the land.Â

what once was weary now knows no sufferingÂ

but for the lack of her smile.Â

this rarest flower:Â

fresh, unfaded, and flourishing.Â

Â

written by Daniel Dessinger to Heather AlgerÂ

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