A Drought

The spot where the creek once ran,
Is a dry, parched land,
Where the sun beats down
On the golden sand.

The earth is cracked before me
Like a wound laid bare,
And the wind whispers softly
To the silence there.

The hard blue sky above
Holds no promise of rain,
Only a shimmering heat,
That drives the heart to pain.

The trees stand gaunt and lonely
With their leaves turned to brown,
In this land where water is
An unremembered crown.

The river bed, a ghostly line,
Stretches far and wide,
A reminder of the days
When water flowed like pride.

• E J Brady