Sahara
Sand storms,
Creeping ranks of dunes.
Rustic shades of sand,
Scorching heat at noon.
Frosty nights,
They lie,
Under lazy skies,
Lit them, barely,
One sad,
and hazel moon.
He will not cease,
He will not ease,
His tormenting kiln,
The saffron sun.
Blasting down
thirsty canyons,
Ancient valleys
and tired towns.
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| oldmedina | 
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