Oft the tinge doth show itself for viewing
On occasion it remains in hiding
The hue covers lands with a paint of green  
Yet for months the pastures being burnt of tone
No drops give life to the countryside's bone
Clouds of restoring promise ne'er arrive
Hence the granite landscape doesn't come alive
Flourishes of verdant turf rarely seen
So as the days of summer go forward
Landholders aren't gifted with rain's reward
Looking at the skies e'er tinted in azure
Dryness prevailing not a spot doth fall
Farmlands are feeling the arid wind's squall
Oh for the soils to have good moisture