The dry leaves drop to the sidewalk
curled at the edges like an old newspaper
and just as frail beneath my boots.
The pond fronds rattle in the mild wind
that does nothing to cool the burn of the sun
as it beats down the barren red earth.
The weeds rub together, sharing hoarse
laments that the days are growing rougher
and hopes that the rains will finally return
in a few months to sustain the next generation
of flowers and leaves, animals and workers.