A desert comes to mind, the beauty of mothers lay in wait.
The waste of mortal coil that breathes the unending smell of weight.
Sluggish thought of what was once there but only a sign of water.
The vast land of grains of sand cluster together like a mortar.
Death, the roughness of terrain is only brought to a kind.
When struggles warmed up the ordinary eyes is, but blind.
Permanent shortage and occasional spring.
Moisture and light inform us it's time to build another threshing.
The sprinters of Marathon, bringing forth the Sahara love grass, a purine.
An average of over a hundred fahrenheit, we are still not barren.

Life's fruitfulness dried up completely
erasing any trace of our existence.
God's greatest invention is made to store enough nourishment to survive the length of a lifelessness.
Hope, that contradicts a world without end.
Women are the rose of Jericho, the baby toes of Namibia.
Adaptation a freewill...