Drought

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Sonnet about our future.

Submitted: January 18, 2008

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Submitted: January 18, 2008

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Our land is dry, our land is dead.
Not a drop of water twinkles.
The ground is like an unmade bed.
Also like an old man’s wrinkles.
 
Bodies, everywhere on the ground.
Not willing, not able to stir.
Too weak to even make a sound.
Not even the young cat can purr.
 
What’s this? A drop? Of rain? Oh JOY!
This marks the end of our night mare.
I splash around just like a boy.
And stick my tongue out in the air.
This drought our death was very near.
But now we have hope for next year.


© Copyright 2019 Jinnasaur. All rights reserved.

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