August

The August sun is pouring on the land,
His scorching rays, and vegetation stands
Beseeching to the skies for showers again
And being answered like the prayers of men.

Along the creeks the white rocks heat and glow,
As it some one had built great fires below,
And cattle stand in stagnant pools to fight
The pestering flies that trouble day and night.

In vain we look for those refreshing showers
That come so oft in Spring at call of flowers,
But clouds come to our view, then pass away,
And leave us in despair at close of day.