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Poem

As still as if there is no air,
With strong heat that's too much to bear,
No withered shrubs to rustle by,
No birds would ever dare fly by,

The earth crise much but sheds no tear,
For it's left empty year by year,
Despite great oceans that are near,
It's pleas for rain they do not hear,

These lands where once fertile and green,
With lots of flora to be seen, 
Nourished by waters from great lakes,
It served man and beast for their sales,

Twas oversuse that was its bane,
Soon dunes filled where waters had lain,
No more gold fields to yeild their grain,
With no men left it went insane,

Maybe these lands shall never rise,
What's dead is dead, so say the wise,
And though the sun smiles on its hide,
I mourn the plains where green lands died.

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