#1853-Drought

When tears on walls dry,

No one asks or wonders why.

When a stranger,

On the street cries,

Most look away,

Wishing time to fly by.

It wasn’t always so.

We are more today,

Than ever before.

Yet care and compassion,

Seem to have dwindled,

Like those summer rainfalls,

That cooled our backyard,

And filled the air,

With the wet scent of the ground.