The clouds this morning look of rain
Will the flowers rejoice
For weeks, their buds have cried in vain
With nary another choice
The heat has risen from the ground
To smother and to steal
The sacred drink they need for life
That they now need to heal

The flowers’ leaves, once bright and green
Now wilted, spotted brown
The happy little blooms of hope
Now bow their heads to frown
But, wait…. alas what’s that I hear
A loud, thunderous boom
Maybe today shall bring the end
Of summer’s drought and doom