As the sun rose, the cactus looked like a spiky green pumpkin,  

The ancient barrel cactus stores water like a camel,  

It is a spiky desert water bottle sizzling in the sand,  

Like a kettle boiling on the stove,  

A green plump blob covered in spikes and spikes and spikes,  

A dressmaker's pin cushion pierced by sharp, sharp needles.  


Hot desert winds howl loudly,  

Screaming “Go away! Go away!’’  

His unfriendly face is warning you,  

Shouting “Go away! Don’t touch!”  

The thorns are sharp and painful like a hundred wasp stings,  

The small flower buds stink and the orange fruits taste horribly bitter.  


But as the flowers bloom, they smell of a sweet, sweet honey,  

The setting desert sun lights up the cactus's golden spikes, 

Each long and thin spike shines bright in the sunlight,  

Like a cake covered in birthday candles.