The silent shifting sands that burn beneath the desert sun
a route from East to West was surely laid,
transportation of the finest silks and spices had begun
in bags of gold the traders would be paid.
The sheerest, shining fabrics in a myriad of hues
to clothe the wealthy merchants of the land,
spices shimmer, red and gold for rich and poor to use
would sweetly scent the air on incense strand.
The trains of trusty camels leave no footprints in their wake
but sure of foot they climb the highest dune,
relentless rays of burning sun could cause a man to break
or be frozen by a cold, white, piercing moon.
In flowing robes and turbans came the keepers of the train
respectful of the dangers they would face,
by stories passed from man to boy the knowledge they would gain
about this uninhabitable place.
That was many years ago, the silk routes are no more
but romance in the desert’s still alive,
the richest silks and spices can be brought from any store,
while the tourists help the camels to survive.
Silver trophy winner
Adding your comment:
Hilly
