I wrote this poem five years ago just after what I thought was the worst drought I'd ever see here in the South. But here it is 2007, and we're suffering from a drought even worse than the one in 2002.

At any rate, I figured it was appropriate that I repost this poem.

Drought of oh-two
By
James Robert Smith

The clouds gathered,
overhead,
dark. And they muttered
softly, to the Earth’s
upturned face,
like a man telling lies
to a young girl,
promising love.
Then, those clouds,
dark,
like a deceitful lover,
fled over distant hills,
leaving.
And whatever had been planted,
whatever was sown,
in that parched, despairing
Earth
would just have to
make do.