In the heart of a barren land, so vast,
Where golden dunes stretch from the distant past,
A carpenter toils with sweat on his brow,
Building a boat where no waters flow.
In the desert's embrace, he stands alone,
His dream taking root, like a seedling sown,
With calloused hands and a determined will,
He shapes the timber, his longing to fulfill.
His tools are his companions, loyal and true,
Each stroke of the hammer, a purpose pursued,
He measures and cuts, with meticulous care,
Crafting a vessel, though none would dare.
His eyes reflect a flicker of hope,
As he fashions the bow, his ambitions elope,
He dreams of a river, gentle and wide,
Where his boat shall sail, on an endless tide.
But the desert wind whispers a tale of despair,
As grains of sand dance in the stagnant air,
The carpenter's heart aches, burdened with doubt,
As doubt casts a shadow, spreading throughout.
Yet, undeterred, he labors each day,
Chasing a vision that refuses to sway,
His sweat mingling with the desert's dust,
He believes in a destiny he can't adjust.
For dreams are resilient, like flowers in bloom,
Unfazed by the arid wasteland's gloom,
The boat takes shape, an emblem of strife,
A testament to the strength of a dreamer's life.
With the final nail, his creation complete,
He steps back to marvel at this desert feat,
A boat in the sand, an extraordinary sight,
A testament to faith and unwavering might.
The sun begins to set, casting hues so grand,
As twilight descends upon this barren land,
The carpenter smiles, though the river is gone,
For he knows in his heart, the boat will not be alone.
Perhaps his boat may never touch the sea,
Yet hope, eternal, shall forever be free,
For dreams defy logic, they transcend what is known,
As the carpenter's boat stands tall, on sand it is sown.