And the Desert flowered

In the beginning was the Desert.
Hot, endless, arid.
Round as an orange,
reflecting the Sun.
 
There were caves in the centre of the Desert,
latticed, reaching upwards.
Full of water,
waiting…
 
The Sun who liked his own reflection
felt it was permanent.
Knew nothing of the caves,
could not have comprehended.
At night, Moon showed her cool face.
Turned a blind eye to cracks in the Desert.
Smiled, as water seeped through.
Laughed, as torrents surged forward.
And in the morning, Earth appeared.
Sun, perplexed, shone harder
wanting his own reflection.
Dormant seeds flourished,
and the Desert flowered
 

Dennis Evans

poem displayed at the The Royal Society of Arts, London