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drought by vithus
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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
and then at last ill have a bath
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