Everyone was down and under,
Not their fault the waters went.
The sun would come too close
To the bodies , in pure dry love .
He sucked bogs high and dry.

Those who did not hide in holes
Tasted his love burning and pure.
Their water went like in old bog.
Some just croaked like old frogs.
The tiny froglets felt low and dry.

His burning love came in waves
As though it was his sea of love.
Death would come in waves too.
Words went dry on poet throats.
There is no cotton in the dry sky