Marc Wilder
Rivers run dry
The sun beats down,
Baking the ground hard as stone.
Only two months ago,
This ancient river and surrounding lands
Were teeming with life.
But now, all you can see
Are the skeleton remains
Of fish and small animals lying everywhere.
Seeing trees, in the middle of summer,
With their leaves silently falling to the ground.
Wild flowers and crops slowly wilting away.
Soon they’ll be dead,
At least for them, the waiting will be over.
Page(s) 126
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