A Thirsty Throat
Won't it die without a drink?
What about a dead beast's stink?
Our land is gasping for great greenery
The one that was a cute castle of scenery
Is now a poor, petrifying, parched plainness
The rains forsook the farmers' hopefulness
When they withdrew and played hide-and-seek
With their patient prayers which are purely meek
That's why our land is lacking and drearily dehydrated
The crops cry dry dirges of drooping, none is exhilarated