drought by vithus
Süžeeskeem Tekst
- it has to rain it must
- i remember a green lawn that we used to play cricket on i remember when it rained, when it was wet we all complained
- trees withered into brown, then rust, leaves crunched like cornflakes, then were dust isaid it has to rain it must
- just twice a week we used the hose, as drought snared each withered rose. showers just a soap and dash, then gathered for a garden splash
- droughts third year and i was scared, its ceaseless dry hand grabbed and glared, dad sat among the withered wheat, and stared
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- and then at last ill have a bath
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