The rocks dance like flames against the sky;
Carved as impeccably as David’s thigh.

In every direction lies an empire of red.
Layer upon layer of rock, each seeming like an individual skin of an onion instead.

And, on this red carpet,
There rise pillars of sandstone that reach into the sky to an immense, unknown coordinate.

The sun’s blaze marks the land void of life
Until the moon and stars awaken the wild critters, winning the bitter strife.

A land so unlike any other,
That it seems to be the moon’s mother.

The land of the native people
who were once so strong, but are now so feeble.

A land of endless rocks of red
Where almost none tread.

It is on this land I stand;
Far from the touch of the white man’s hand.