Alas, the Brown Times

Alas, the brown times

Gone are the days of green

Where once fields yielded as plush carpets

Now crunch in brown misery
Where once the sky wept in predictable fits

Now stares down upon thirsty lips
The air pregnant and slow with dew

Now births a wind that gusts as a knife
Sunset flares with the dust of thirsty earth

And the night cannot cover its gasp of thirst
Gone are the days of green

Alas, the brown times