The leaves fall off the vine
crinkled and brown
and so very dry
that they crunch under footsteps
of strangers walking together.
Those trees over there are thin
the branches are so brittle
and the grass beneath has died off
for there's no shade
and the sun is too hot.
And the crater in the ground
was once a lake
but those streams dried up
leaving stones and debris
to rest in the dust.
Those strangers' bodies scream for water
that no longer exists
with trembling hands
they grab hold
as the wasteland claims another.
With one less person
they walk away from the sun
that beats on their heads
that hang so low
from this wicked, cruel, abuse.