The wind bent thirsty trees.
I heard them calling out to the blackened Sun.
They creaked and cracked...
laughing and waving their leaves to catch every drop that fell.
They're still whispering to each other quenched in the drizzle.
It's raining in huge lazy drops...
marching down my mirroring street in a parade.
Spectating streams flow and follow along.
Here it comes again... Oak and Maple standing tall.
Dried up rose petals take a fall.
Buds ready to burst...
the rain has quenched their thirst.
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