The crops are drooping in my fields.
No rain again today.
My precious topsoil, dry as dust,
threatens to blow away.
It makes a farmer feel like Job
to be afflicted in this way.
No rain dance I can do will help.
I lack the words to pray.
We’re victims of a climate change
which makes the land too dry.
Nor is hope on the horizon
from the high blue, empty, sky.