Dark squares, parched, the earth

cracks open, revealing nothing

but a dry-eyed longing

for one drop of rain

as cattle watch, grazing on nothing but memories of green grass, as it once was

as men sit, defeat and worry

writ upon faces, lines 

telling stories of struggle

gazes which look up to the clear blue skies

fierce and relentless.

No rain will come again

this year, the radio blares.

And more farmers will swing

from trees some rich people forgot to cut.