The brown crusty surface of the desert soil,
Can always be ploughed by hard turmoil.
There is an outburst of an hurricane,
That invades the privacy of the old dame.
The sky is clouded with thick dark clouds,
Pelting drops of thunder rain cover the ground.
The farmer works, the bull cries loud,
For all they want is a rain yielding cloud.
The desert’s shrub though green in color,
Will attract scores of rain yet to come,
For mere fulfillment of the empty drum.