Editor's ChoiceMusingsPoetry

Dry Season

Trees have gone dry again
Dead like a lifeless body
Laid down, waiting to be reborn
The root lives in the ground
But the leaves dance to the tune
Of thin air.

The air from the Sahara desert
Can boil Iceland instantaneously.
Only the mad wear cardigan in
The hundred degrees of Celsius.
Palm fronds are the latest vogue

Source of water can only be seen
In a wild dream
Only the mighty barely fills the gourd
The latter drool of the next year tide

Cloud glows like a crystal diamond
Emitting hot ray that makes the skin
To provide unpleasant rain.

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