The sky darkens into a mass of ash and bluish grey,
The neem trees, all a-huddle, heave
The unploughed fields, dry and parched with pain,
Eagerly await the first reviving flush of rain.
The arid landscape, languishing and about to die,
Weeks later looks refreshingly alive.
Fields covered with saplings moist and green
Present a healing scene.
In the ditch where gurgling waters flow
Reposes a tranquil milch-buffalo.