The corn died this summer

The corn died first, then

the soybeans, thirsting for the rain

that didn’t come. Farmers watched

the early morning, noon, 5, 6 and 10

o’clock news knowing that nothing

was changing except hope.

And occupying my postage stamp

of a yard I scurried from grass

to gardens to trees to grass and

back again, a perpetual etcetera

of water and hoses, sprinklers

and soakers, and constant motion

of water and hope.

The red buds died in the boulevards

this summer, and the Civil War tree

in the park, three of my rosebushes

but only one limb of the crabapple.

Hope endures.

This poem is submitted to the dVersePoets prompt of the dog days of summer. To see other poems, please visit the site.