The Grove

In the desert two flowers grew,
Apart yet drawn they were to each other,
With little but heat and sand around,
They found asylum from the scornful earth,
In the shade of one another.

Amid the cacti and cooking stones,
Two flowers thrived and spread their roots,
These two whose odds were yet so slim,
Pressed on unfettered,
Yet anchored still.

The baleful gaze of the sun bore down,
A kiln the sands as others died,
And wilted all about the two,
But safe in one another's boughs,
Their roots grew deep and hardy still.

Today the desert is no more,
A jungle rich and emerald stands,
Where once stood only ivory graves,
Now life springs forth,
And rivers flow.

It's said in whispers passed along,
By caravans and travelers hence,
The verdant heart of the jungle hides,
A grove secluded evermore,
Where two small flowers bloom anew.