Poem No. 36: Water

When you became a desert,

I was your monsoon.

When you were dry farmland,

I was the downpour

Your crops thirsted for.

When your grass got a little greener,

I became a sprinkler,

My tsch, tsch, tsch sounds

Nourishing your soil.

When you began thriving,

Needing someone to cut your lush lawn

I became a mist so fine

I was barely perceptible.

So I hang back,

Clung thick to the clouds,

Waiting for the time you need me again.

Until then, I'll play the part of mirage —

Looking like I'm your oasis, but always

Just out of reach.

You always did like me wet.