He wasn't what you'd call a desert flower, <br />more of a cactus with a hundredthousand pricks. <br />While walking by I dropped an insult by his shadow <br />and watched the fireworks blow into endless skies. <br /> <br />We hit it off, needless to say, like toad and beetle, <br />the question, one of sheer identity, <br />it was a scorcher of a day on parched terrain <br />huge balls of spinifex and animosity. <br /> <br />But look today, my friends, have we turned into mellow <br />and rather feeble aging poets with no brawn? <br />Or could it be that he's a rather friendly fellow <br />and that the days of nasty skirmishes are gone? <br /> <br />Note: I needed to show that I can still rhyme, hence the last 4 lines.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/of-desert-wars/
