Desert's Silent Sting
Beneath a sun of hammered brass,
Where dunes like golden mountains mass,
A scorpion stirs, a shadow creeps,
Where life in scorching silence sleeps.
Its carapace, a polished stone,
Reflects the heat, a world unknown
To softer creatures, frail and weak,
Whose fragile lives the desert reaps.
With pincers raised, a deadly grace,
It navigates this barren place,
A hunter born, with venom's fire,
Fulfilling nature's grim desire.
Across the sands, so hot and wide,
It seeks a prey, where shadows hide,
A flicker sensed, a movement slight,
A meal to claim in fading light.
The desert wind, a whispered sigh,
As twilight paints the ochre sky,
The scorpion waits, with patient art,
A silent sting, a poisoned dart.
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