The Keepers Of The Glades


In the season when the land goes dry,
When life retreats and no one hears the cry,

El Lagarto wallows in the muck.
All wild life gives a sigh, what luck!

A gator hole is their safe haven.
A microcosm that will sav'em.

Stretched across the land these single links,
Perfect circlets, the only drink.

Until the season when it rains
And all these pools become a chain.

The seeds of life re-germinate.
The glades replenish, repopulate.

The Marsh is once again alive,
Because he likes to wallow, we all survive.

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