I come with a tale from a faraway land,
Where the sun beats down like blades.
Where the sand boils hot like a Druid's brew pot,
And the mirage of water doth fade.

I come with a story told from dune to dune,
Of a long lost girl, therein.
The heart of a child, both tender and mild,
Thrown into the dusty wind...

In she rode upon a desert mare,
Parched, dessicated, and dry.
Had she silk blonde hair, like snow was she fair,
Yet the desert wore rough in her eyes.

The Desert Mhojave lashed wounds in her heart,
The sands tore deep in her soul.
Burned by the light, yet frozen by the night,
Her blackened fingers were soiled as coal.

No longer did she bear that joyous, great smile.
Instead her lips were deathly thin.
Once vibrant and bright, now faded of light,
Her eyes held a secret within.

For out on her journey through endless, dark sands,
A stranger she did sight.
Ethereal was he, who couldn't possibly be
Standing there on that cold, desert night.

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Glacian, in the year 411 AF.