Arid. Parched. Withered. Bone Dry.
Yellow grass burns
beneath a merciless sky.
A scorched surface crust
where nothing finds reprieve
Thick heat cloaks us, makes it hard to breath.
Our arid earth whispers, cracking in its pain, desperately begging and thirsting for rain.
Blue skies beckon, no clouds can be found, new shoots await rain, deep within the ground.