Sandy Hands
A tracing hand
Betrays the dust
On cracking sand.
A baking band
Of steaming rust,
A tracing hand
That fights the scan
Of vying lust
On cracking sand.
Leaves you a strand
Of thinnest trust,
A tracing hand.
You’re breathing land,
So sit and cuss
On cracking sand.
No time for fuss,
You flail away.
A tracing hand
On cracking sand.
(please visit my poetry bog at periledpoint.wordpress.com)
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