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,