Telling
The desert tells of many things
Of creatures rattling and born with wings,
At night above the raging sand
The wind blows whistling like a band,
Speaking nothings of past and present
Telling creatures of times too pleasant,
Of sand pressed by water
Of beasts drived by slaughter,
Fins and gills of monsters unknown
Things that can only be found in stone,
Today the sands stand still here
Today the sands only know the heat and fear,
At night in sand the cold still stays
For in the day its met by blaze,
The desert tells of many things
The desert rests living off dead kings.
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