Drought by Dennis Lange

The grass is brown. Oh, Mother, why?
…The rain won’t fall and so it’s dry.

The river’s slow. Oh, Mother, why?
…The clouds are missing from the sky.

The deer are thin. Oh, Mother, why?
…The grass is gone and some may die.

It’s dry! It’s dry! Oh, Mother, why?
…We’re in a drought; for rain we cry.

Why is there drought, oh, Mother, why?
…Without a rain, the weeks go by.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.