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  • By Daniel Platt

In the Desert

Our love, it blooms in such a fiery hue,

Secluded on a vast and arid plain.

I know I’ll never see its like again,

A color exquisite and warm and true.

I ask the waning sun: is it in vain

To hope for just a breath of healing rain,

When any respite still eludes my view?

My song shall touch the skies, implore them to

Afford to us new weather, to sustain

A fragile blossom in a dry domain.

Until my humble sonnet may imbue

The skies with kindness, let my tears renew

That bed from which our budding beauty springs,

Awaiting what our better weather brings.

Daniel Platt is a translator, poet and musician who resides in Los Angeles. More of his translations and original poems can be found here.

The featured image is courtesy of Simona Carrato


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