There'll Be No Rain

There'll be no rain the forecast said til January's wounded pride erupts upon the bloomless beds and weeps a pewter morning tide. There'll be no rain for many weeks, just plenitudes of overcast that burn away as daylight peaks, when noon's anemic sun is cast. There'll be no rain, no wet respite to irrigate depleted earth, just flaxen grass in withered plight that dampens all my yuletide mirth. There'll be no rain this Christmas Day, just arid hillsides' umber splay.