THE DROUGHT

I kept six flowerbeds alive
and blooming,
all summer as I
sat perched atop a cherrywood
porch, staring at a
sky ablaze, much like my heart.

As my heart would beat
so did my precious
plants grow rich with color and
flourished with my love.

Each day and night would
I pour upon their delicate
petals all of my love and
water too,
and sunlight was plentiful.

But as that day came
when I could be outside
no longer, the rain
did stop from feeding them
the days I could not
even feed myself;

and soon the colors did
fade, and the stems fell
weak as my own body had,
the sky was gray but still
the rain did not fall.

I have yet to see the rain
pour as hard as it had in those days.