Struggle XV

By Andrew R. Duckworth

Sometimes, the rain hits
In an unsuspecting land
Suffering from a dry spell
Only to end after a moment,
Not enough water to drink
For the screaming plants.
They screamed for shelter
From the frying sun,
But it only blinked,
A little wink from
A bright devil.
If it wasn’t
Deprivation
It would have
Sent the storm
To flood the fields,
To pour drink after drink,
To kill them with their own
Pleasures—a brave new world.
But the sand will still fall
Trickling from the hourglass.
And the keeper of time,
The maker of time,
The speaker of time,
Has a say in the matter.
Perhaps the plants cry out
In the wrong direction.