Poetry Corner: Drought

by Jim Farfaglia



The sun, a hard-driving foreman,

bears down on us all.


The lawn, looking for attention,

has dyed its hair blonde.


The flowers, weary from it all,

bend their heads.


The maple, forever in waiting,

holds out its hands.


The driveway, sick and tired,

burns with a fever.


The air, stuck in stillness,

tries to remember how to rain.

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