Parched
The hippo and the crocodile, rarely bosom buddies
Tighter squeeze together as the shrinking water muddies
Some fall by the wayside as that arid river bed
Leads those that do not falter to a bitter head to head
Jostling for position in the sun’s relentless gaze
The water hole is barely damp for days and days; and days
And one by one their eyelids close on this their final stand
Even as the clouds portend new rain to quench the land
The final crocodile takes a final snorted breath
The final hippo perseveres with all that he has left
But soon he too succumbs for the sake of just one sip
And so he fails to comprehend that steady, drip... drip... drip
Copyright © Terry Flood | Year Posted 2021
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