The flowers bloom in the Desert joyously—
They do not weary themselves with questioning;
They are careless whether they be seen, or praised.
They blossom unto life perfectly and unto death perfectly, leaving nothing unsaid.
They spread a voluptuous carpet for the feet of the Wind
And to the frolic Breezes which overleap them, they whisper:
“Stay a moment, Brother; plunder us of our passion;
Our day is short, but our beauty is eternal.”
Never have I found a place, or a season, without beauty.
Neither the sea, where the white stallions champ their bits and rear against their bridles, Nor the Desert, bride of the Sun, which sits scornful, apart…
Excerpt from “The Poet in the Desert” - By Charles Erskine Scott Wood
A Digital Sketch by J.R. Corkrum
(To see a larger version of this image, just click on it)
To see more of my work, both in photography and digital painting, please visit my website, www.corkrum.com…or visit my Flickr Page.
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