A few months of heat which dries the blaze
that wobbles in the sun
and sucks the soul from barren days.
A few months of showers that fill the plains,
enlivens flowers; giving them a grace.
While grasses hold raindrops
at the tip of their blades,
the quenched earth glistens,
blushing in the fragrant glades.
What is life but a rose
that blooms and withers,
and falls neath a weeping blade,
when all that glistens
are tears in a gleaming glade.