Dry Land.

When all feels lost,

In summer heat,

And dry feet,

Tired from the journey,

Continue on,

On sandy ground,

Cloudless skies,

Turning rounds,

To the same beige grains.

He opens an oasis,

Not far away,

Out of sight,

But surely there.

Oh these days are hard,

As solid rock,

But I rather walk,

These dry roads than stay.

To stop or turn back,

Is to turn to grey.

I rather walk,

On this scorching land,

Than stop and drown,

In sinking sands.