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Poem

Harsh is the time of your birth
The bleaching sun, taking away all beauty of the earthly jade.
But out of this parched season,
You bring forth the passions of your ever living substance.

Whispers of the cool, dry winds 
Wave your exquisiteness for all to see.
Canvasing the floor of the soft earth, 
Beneath each towering tree.

The stately soft petal 
Of your comeliness fall ever gracefully.
Like the rains, that you seemingly beckon 
To come and drench the thirsting earth.

Your cries for the heavens
To bless the earth is without sound,
But great things occur in silence,
Just as the warm sun rises.

The God of the heavens 
The great creator set you as a sign.
A herald of great tidings, 
For the rain draweth nigh.

Not once, nor twice but as many as three times 
Your passion is echoed.
Filling the land with hope, 
That soon the watering of the earth will appear.

But alas, you are no more as the heavenly windows open,
And as the thirsty land drinks her fill, 
Your passionate silent calls are needed no more.
We bid thee farewell till next mother nature calls.

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