Little towers, peaks undercut from the sun
Stretching higher before they’re gone
Rushing waves and sweltering winds
Brush harshly, scratching rock thin
A catalyst of working art
A conversation to start
Passing eyes linger upon its shadow
Watch it grow and grow
mark upon the setting stone
stretched before its blown
brick by brick
they rise and stick
a monument to our progressive wit
as dusk proceeds to vanish
our laughs turn to anguish.
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