Roads and lanes look deserted
as red heat the sun asserted
no adult’s walk, no child’s play
it’s long since all being gay.
Wary eyes have ceased to glow
weary hands have stopped to sow
barren lands and arid brooks
speak for the gloomy looks.
Amidst the casted dry spell
zephyr begins to charm well
grey masses take up the sky soon
gulping down heat ball of noon.
Tiny droplets touch the ground
making the most marvelous sound
tip tap, tup tup tup
eyes staring all the way up.
Merriest is Fulka, the farmer
for the drops are his armour
“Gone are my gloomy days!”
like a lion he exclaims.
Life seems like seasons spree
amidst the moist muddle dawned on me
how hot may be the summer song
winter winds will never be long.
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