In Vain

You passionately shared the warmth of handsome men. Blessed with the fruit of youthful women. Expectation glimse the face of white haired mother,the breath of a grand child. The drought came before the wet season, your fruit- fall unripe, such gold crop fades ungathered. When the rain comes, hail mother with uncounted abort, who will run and giggle in your house? When hair once ebony turns silver- gray,who will weave them and grace your ears with painted songs? Give them a chance same as yours,they too deserve to live.