The Saguaro, giant of the desert,
Stands sentinel, a watchful eye,
For centuries he'd weathered storms,
Drunk deep the rain from summer skies.
But time, the sculptor, knows no rest,
And slowly, surely, life departs.
The verdant skin, once a vibrant green,
Now hangs in tatters, worn and torn.
The ribs, once hidden, now exposed,
A skeletal dance beneath the sun.
A silent homage to the earth,
From which all life, its journey's begun.
The Old One Bows, a graceful arc,
Beturning dust unto the ground.
A cycle endless, ever turning,
Life giving way...
