Clash

A pear tree,
A swarm of bees,
Under the burning sun;
Desert heats
Where vultures feast.
But blades of grass
will not be encroached;
The root grows deep
To keep the spark alive.
Soft scent mesmerises,
Puts to sleep: sweet dreams.
The sand is strong,
Slick, and cunning, still
No beam goes through, for the vines are you:
Forever on and so
We sew the line anew