Tall grows the summer burnt rows of needful corn,
Parched earth begs its mercy toward hazy heavens,
Farmers wander fields’ once lush and vibrant gems,
Needed moisture abandons the farm with scorn.
Kneeled in prayer weathered face pleads case,
Other crops welcome the regular calls for rain,
The dry summer breeze crosses dying plain,
Hopeful eyes search longingly for hidden ace.
Days plod slowly toward summers’ needed end,
Parched lips mutter the routine cry for wetness,
On the horizon lost clouds begins to darkly rend,
Slow drizzle starts its downward trail to bless.
July 16, 2009