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There Were Dry Red Days

 by Sharmagne Leland-St.
John There were dry red days Devoid of clouds Devoid of breeze Sound bruised My burning bones Dirt cracked my hands And caked my cheeks No buds on limbs of trees No birds on branches No hope of rain Scrawny chickens Kicked up dust Scratching for food That wasn't there In the stifling, stillness Of the scorched night We dreamt Of cool oases Tropical isles Emerald bays Not these dry red days

by Sharmagne Leland-St John
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