these dry skeleton euphorbias long for the showers to come -
boney arms reaching, aching for rain to quench their fleshless frames
their leaves abandoned them and plunged to their death some months ago -
the kamikaze comrades were dressed in khaki, ocher, mustard and flax
these skeletons have long forgotten the damper days, the morning dew
and the darting lizards don't gossip or help them to remember -
this sun drenched, dusty, bone-dry field, for now, a summer's grave
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