Slip on into the barren lands,
That place where nothing grows,
And plants won't seed.
The tough spot, comprised of rocks,
And heat and dusty grime.
The edges of stone are
Stark on the horizon,
Laid out end to end.
Sun beats down, drying everything.
Mouth, skin, eyes.
Not a drop of moisture is around.
Nothing is left.
Even the clear sky,
Really is not enjoyable,
For it has been baked out white.
Glaring sun, blistering down,
No spot of shade to cower in.
But wait, in that shadow,
Under that overhang,
A tiny spot, sheltered.
In that spot, there it is,
It sprouts, tiny, determined.
A greenish plant,
That I named hope.
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