A Thirsty Throat

Won’t it die without a drink?

What about a dead beast’s stink?

Our land is gasping for great greenery

The one that was a cute castle of scenery

Is now a poor, petrifying, parched plainness

The rains forsook the farmers’ hopefulness

When they withdrew and played hide-and-seek

With their patient prayers which are purely meek

That’s why our land is lacking and drearily dehydrated

The crops cry dry dirges of drooping, none is exhilarated