The Sphinx

The bleached sand endlessly swirls
Slowly growing higher and deeper
Till she is nearly buried
Under a burning layer of white fire.
Even though wind and time
Have robbed her chiseled face of beauty,
She sits upon stone haunches,
Ageless and unmoving,
Her weather-beaten face alive
With the wisdom of years,
Her sightless eyes surveying
The beautiful desert world
That spreads outward from beneath
Her powerful resting paws.
Her feline shape crouches silent.

--Sarah W., 9th-12th Grade.