How Dry is the Valley

Our luck was easy traffic, gentle breeze,
and soft blue heavens shot with cotton clouds.
But when we passed the fields that held few trees,
the parch of desiccation lay like shrouds
on thirsty dirt that isn’t worth a plow
this year, with drought and dire threat around,
and odds of fire blanketing dry ground.

(Rhyme Royal)

This entry was posted in Poetry, Transit, Weather and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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