Drought

 

Drought



My road is fenced with the bleached, white bones

And strewn with the blind, white sand,

Beside me a suffering, dumb world moans

On the breast of a lonely land.

On the rim of the world the lightnings play,

The heat-waves quiver and dance,

And the breath of the wind is a sword to slay

And the sunbeams each a lance.

I have withered the grass where my hot hoofs tread,

I have whitened the sapless trees,

I have driven the faint-heart rains ahead

To hide in their soft green seas.

Drought - an excerpt by William Henry Ogilvie

 

Done for Three Muses challenge of the week - Weather In Your Part of the World.

 

Courbert self-portrait from the British Library On-line, cracked ground from Pixabay.com,

background from Mischief Circus Vagabond Adventures, flames and smoke  from Mischief Circus Alchemist and that fabulous sun flare from Holliewood Studio's Special Effects