A little dragonfly sat on a stalklet. She tried to find a vivifying cool. The sun was scorching, hot and scalding. No one could outstay for long in full.
That poor stalklet was so dry and woeful. Under the soft breeze it could turn to dust. The dragonfly was tired and marcid And had to sit on stalklet at the last.
I pray the sun stop scorching all at once, Give cool a little bit, stop shining. I pray the sun being mercy for in need. And save the little dragonfly from dieing.
And I’m as this dragonfly myself. My stalklet’s dry. It almost turns to dust. I’m waiting for a miracle. I’m utter fool. I know it’s stupid, but I somehow trust.
Sometimes I really feel myself as a little dragonfly, sitting on a dry stalklet and dreaming of the rain. But the sun shines and scorches. And that's how it's supposed to be...