Every afternoon, the Dust Storm rises
As to where it will hit next
Through the winding narrow hallway
That it passes on its way
Is a little pinecone tree
It is all that you can see
The pinecone tree is short
Yet is filled with many shades
The gust of wind and dust
Fills the color scheme with grey
The tree is made of cones
The cones are made of dust
Heat’s the only factor that would cause it to combust