Poetic Desert

Sometimes the desert is my home,
That's where I often like to roam.
It's where I often go

In search of my oasis where
The beauty of the mind has air
That's warm and fresh although

The dry and heated, barren land
Does not give freely what you planned.
A poet's search begins

To see what grows inside this place
Where it's too hot to run a race
And yet a poet wins.