23/10/2024
A cactus stands beneath the sun,
Spiky arms, no place to run.
Its needles sharp, its stature proud,
Yet nature weaves a tale aloud.
A stray dog trots through desert heat,
On dusty ground with tired feet.
It stops, surveys the prickly view,
And leaves behind a gift—who knew?
A pile rests on cactus green,
A sight so odd, a scene unseen.
Between the thorns, it boldly sits,
As nature chuckles at its wits.
The cactus bears its fate in grace,
A p**p perched high in absurd place.
The desert wind may blow away,
But that strange sight is here to stay.
