White Sands


South wind blows,
Day descends,
Sand flowing,
Like an ocean,
Giant waves,
Rolling year by year,
Ever changing,
Never staying,
As fickle as the wind,
Surrounded by natural walls,
Slave to the forces around it,
Earth, wind, water, man, beast,
Not of its own design, 
Shaped by things smaller and greater,
Destined just to be,
Slipping and sliding,
Moving ever where its made to go,
Full in its barreness,
Beautiful in its simplicity.