North Cyprus

A cactus plant grows in the sun,
The land is parched and dry,
And prickly to the touch,
Does it exist, and lie

Deep rooted to the core of earth,
To drink of what it can,
And effort thus intended
To bring to bloom, in span

Wide and wondrous to the eye,
A blossom of rare taste,
One which echoes of the love
With which we are, in haste,

To show to each who walks our path,
Despite their outer show,
To recognise, thus deep within,
The all that’s yet to glow.