February In Igbo

The un-clouded blank sky says it all As no smile nor anger is expressed above The withering grasses express the pain As the foggy air attests to its harshness The drying streams hope for wetter days As the birds have to travel far for just a drink The soil cracks in pains of dehydration As all await the rains to replenish and reawaken The rains must come when it is it's season For that purpose that it will serve in the cycle The inhabitants of earth must survive and live To perpetuate the undulating cycle of life