And one small giraffe
Made out of a whirling cloud
This last California day
To make it to Arizona
At the end of May this year
So the desert recovered
Flooded with color
Almost balmy with so many
Perfumes from earlier rains
In Arizona we remember California
We put down our harps
And weep for the heat
We know is coming
The oppressive extinguishing
Of all those flowers
Their seas retreating
Into summer’s fires
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