Sands of Sensation

Over head the dusty cloud looms

Desert soldiers on the skyline.

Soaring Oe’r the sandy gold dunes,

Yellow ocean blust’ry gusts whine

Empty wasteland nothing persists,

People slaving, banal, sweat browed,

Standing under blackbirds’ full hiss;

But I see a figure endowed

A bastille of beauty standing

In the wind blown town of lost dreams

With red ochre locks in wind willowing

To thee I hold the pith empty

And ask you this simple query:

May I stand in the wind with you?