Date

There were no ponds like the singer's eyes on stage

Staring into faceless crowds while lost in meditation

No candles illuminating its head from the backporch

No children playing and laughing and no one to care

It was in the desert and visited by slithering oil with

Fiery tongues and sounds of the rattle without song

Vultures and other birds of prey thirsty for pink flesh

Days hot as hell and nights where you need a lover

And somehow this desert rose was still so beautiful

written September 4, 2007

Best of the Roses,

John French mystrawhat.com

Everyday There's Something

MySpace URL
http://www.myspace.com/mosshead7

StrawHat Productions

Date:	Tue Aug 7, 2007 12:00AM PDT)
From:	John French <mosshead7@yahoo.com>
Subject:	Desert Rose
To:	fox&friends@foxnews.com
There were no ponds like the singer's eyes on stage Staring into faceless crowds while lost in meditation No candles illuminating its head from the backporch No children playing and laughing and no one to care It was in the desert and visited by slithering oil with Fiery tongues and sounds of the rattle without song Vultures and other birds of prey thirsty for pink flesh Days hot as hell and nights where you need a lover And somehow this desert rose was still so beautiful written September 4, 2007 Best of the Roses, John French mystrawhat.com http://www.mystrawhat.com Everyday There's Something MySpace URL http://www.myspace.com/mosshead7 StrawHat Productions
Poetry By John Alan Conte`, Jr. Copyright 2008 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of John Alan Conte Jr.