March to Chad

March to Chad,
Summer in the desert;
What we know we had,
In European comfort.
People come everywhere,
Day by the hour through;
Into the waste here,
Going from old to new.

Time buried images,
Of what the year brings;
All suffering adages,
That to a courage sings.
The affiliation flower,
A straight line clear-cut;
From inside timeless hour,
That can not be accurate.

Trim the tree of blood,
The torn tongue leaps;
The centuries confounded,
Wisdom there now sleeps.
A flamed winged spark,
The daughter of the air;
The time has become dark,
Dust to dust earth's hair.