Across the dusty plains of southwest lands,
An empty dish lies buried in the sands;
With taps turned off to nature’s moist supply,
As climates change the basin starts to dry.
Within the hellish bowels of holy caves,
Lie imprints of misplaced and ancient waves;
Our excavated past can tell us why,
As climates change the basin starts to dry.
Like fervent palmists looking for a sign,
We read the hidden script in every line;
Each chalky mark engraved on our mind’s eye,
As climates change the basin starts to dry.
This hidden past unmasks these local climes,
As interwoven with our global crimes;
These signals are not predisposed to lie,
As climates change the
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