Arizonal Central Poem by david lessard

Parched lands, searing heat, endless skies of sun-filled sheets,
Empty sands...where buzzards meet.
Barren crags and empty towers, limestone cliffs, no April showers,
Damned few birds...and fewer flowers.

Hot and cold, extremely dry, a humongus ocean of clear, blue sky,
If your not careful...your gonna fry.
Dust devils, whirling, coss the plain, with all the speed of an Amtrak train,
Reminders of the earth's big drain...in this land of little rain.

Does this climate spawn senility?
Or just plain old futility?
Does it fathom any utility?
It sures gives one...humility.

Shield your body from the sun, protect it in the final run,
Your sun-screen do not shun; out here the sun is number one.