She came to the desert
To walk on the edge of a knife
The paint brush her weapon of expression
The green of New York did not inspire her
Vastness held her wonder, her spirit
The loner in the desert, found her own way
Her ashes and essence sparkle in the dryscape
I seek only a glint of her inspiration
A creative raindrop in the elusive oasis
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Primavera Falso
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