Drought-harsh, her gaze a steady glare
That withers stalwart hearts away
And blisters any soul that dares
Supplicate the cloudless skies;
Merciless, and falsely cold,
The cerulean of her eyes
Flashes rancour. Her voice is bold
Like flurried dust-storms sweeping South
From desert-dry despairing lands;
The howling curses from her mouth
Hit harder than the blows that leave her hands.
So long as men can breathe and hear and see,
Wisdom warns them: Let her be.