For Sotto Poet's The Simple Poetry Poetry Contest
Sweltering and dripping sweat, tillers of land prayed as they gazed with frenzied hope and furrowed brows up at a sun that glared relentlessly down from a stubbornly cloudless sky. Through August, the days limply crawled into September. The heat kept beating and beating them down until a few weeks later when wind began to wail; trees trembled. No lovelier shrouds were ever seen than those gray shrouds of clouds that delivered splattering droplets which turned quickly into sheets and sheets of rain. It pounded ground and soaked the thirsting fields, and with the heavens, the joyous farmers wept.
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