Dust-dry ground heated
And soon to be baked by the sun
Bleached grass and receding ponds
E’er since the Spring begun.
Where are those kisses of moisture sweet,
Those drops of cooling life?
Wispy cloud pass over head
But their rich treasures they withhold.
Then it happens a few sharp drops,
Bullet-like pelt the ground.
Dust explodes from impact firm
But then the barrage does cease
The teasing done, the clouds move on
Leaving the sun to bake in peace