The Drought
The concrete burns against my feet
And shadows form beneath the heat.
A wind rolls down
And slides through the trees,
Calming down the sun burnt streets
Until the night awakens to rouse our dreams.
The sudden wave has dried the streams
And thirst comes around to brown the green,
So we wait in hope for rain to feed our need,
And wash the dirt and what’s left unclean.
The cars are scorched; the grass is beat,
Sweat beads down the sun light beams.
Flowers grow but cannot breath
The drought has come and the forest weeps
And it fears the desserts reap.