The Dry Spell
The chirping of birds long gone;
The
flurry
of
butterflies
but
a
dream.
Trees shamed for their loss of leaves.
The smell of dust now prevalent,
replacing
the
scent
of
dew
long
forgotten.
Rustling of dry leaves stepped upon.
The scorching Sun, only a reminder
of
it's
loss
of
vegetation, now a scorched earth.
It's the dry season, the harvest of
plenty
long
forgotten. sand and dust a reminder
The stormy dust, a reminder of what
would
have
been.
It's the spell of the dry season.
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