Stranger, you have reached a strange land,
Here, in brown foliage, buzz many insects,
Here is the desert home of snakes and sage brush,
with Russian Thistle that shade them from the burning sun.
Here, day after day,
Blows the fine dust, that works its way into everything,
The flower that rarely crowns the local growth,
are feed by the mist like rain that
comes but twice a year, less then three inches.
Desert, "of central Washington"
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