by Laine G., 17
The lakes are placid
In the Danakil Depression.
A land of acid
And death.
Yet one woman lives,
Happily alone.
To her the land gives
And provides.
The ponds in her home
Can blister and burn.
Yet through them she roams,
Content.
She mops her garden
In the acid of the Earth.
And where the ground hardens,
She walks.
Where she belongs,
Few can survive.
So she sings her songs
To the silence.
Exton, Pennsylvania
Bridge Ink 