How Dry the Land

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It rained a brief pour, following weeks without;
Could the storm ease a devastating drought?
Moisture pattered tiny footsteps on highways;
Intensified to batter roofs and play
A duet with thunder to convey the clear
Cool melody we long had strained to hear.

Optimism soared that the promising front
Could renew withered crops, stunted runt
Grass and flora deprived of natural splendor,
Hunkered down with slender tendrils;
What had been required was a good soaking
Instead of what proved to be a token.

The fleeting mists merely moistened fields,
Leaving in their wake pathetic yields
And crestfallen leaves hanging like ghosts
In rows mortally wounded, most like toast;
What the dry heat had left, mites consumed;
Like living in a desert, a farmer rued.

Across the panting region and coastal state
Farmers reluctantly accepted their fate
And hustled for local and federal loans
To recoup red ink threatening fields and homes;
The unbowed breed vows to man gear
To plow and reseed in a better, wetter year.