The waterlogged lands have long gone dry
The soil is lying cracked and parched
The frogs that crocked in shallow pools,
Nowhere on land or water to be seen
The once full river has thinned and narrowed
Into a greasy smudge of faded stain
On the long yard of brown earth
The road is a burning stretch of black
Sure it can make the water steam and sizzle
Quicker than in an electric pot
The sun is seen a flaming ball in the sky
Darting down spears of smarting beams
Heat like a spiteful scorpion’s sting
Burns the flesh and the bared scalp
Watermelons or chilled buttermilk
Cannot douse the midday heat
The fiery tongue of humid summer
Licks up the last residue of green
The woods dread the fall of a spark
That can ignite an inferno, anytime
The cattle stay still with frothy foam
Dripping down from their drooping tongues
A thirsty crow beside a dried up pond
Looks around for a drop of water
(But alas, not as lucky as the parable crow
That finds a jar of half filled elixir)
A line of black ants carry a carcass
Clambering up the cracked stump of a tree
The brown grass sings
And the Etna seethes!