A Ghost Town Called CrazyCreek (National Poetry Month, Write a Sestina)

Over in the holler at Crazy Creek,
See that old ghost town - yonder over there?
Houses blasted white by the wind, rain, and sun.
Town's cemetery is behind that fence,
The wood markers are gray, crumblin' and dry.
You can still pick out some words, "In loving..."

Someone wrote each word, caring and loving,
Could be he left his dear wife by that creek,
Where winds howl over lands dusty and dry.
It musta been hard just leaving her there,
In the wind and rain, by a rotting fence;
But worst of all, in that God-awful sun!

Desert town - wind, sand, blisterin' sun,
Can it nourish a heart that is loving?
You can't shut out the world with that fence.
Nary a drop of water wets that creek.
They call it Crazy Creek because no water's there.
Only dust flows by, and everthin's so damn dry!

When they left, was there an eye that was dry?
No trees, no flowers, just desert sun.
How hard it musta been to leave them there.
Once they had been warm, living, loving.
Had they laughed at waterless, Crazy Creek?
Whilst they white-washed and mended the old fence?

Coyotes howl, owls hoot, beyond that fence.
Ghostly moonbeams flow in a creek that's dry.
A burning ghost town with a nowhere creek...
Oooh, burning heat, burning dust, hot, scorching sun!
Once there was someone warm and loving,
But it was time to go, and he left her there.

Among the cactus and lizards, she lies there
Behind the dilapidated old fence.
Are they lonely, still laughing, still loving,
Among the sage, in a world so dry?
Is that a mirage, or ghosts of the sun
Splashing and playing in a bubbling creek?

Do they play there at night and wade in the creek?
Do they float past the fence, when there's no sun,
Still warm and loving, in a place the sun can't dry?