My garden is gone there is no doubt

A victim of the ravages of the cursed drought

     The grass is dead, in fallen repose

Survived perhaps by the resilient rose

     The trees are bare, the twigs do snap

And there's an empty bowl beneath the tap

     The ground is cracking, brittle and dry

And there's not a cloud in the clear blue sky

     The smell of citrus has departed the air

And the dust has settled every where

      The sun sears down and dries one's eyes

A constant companion, the heat and the flies

      If a cloud appears it's gone in a day

Leaving no moisture for which we pray

      The sky turns red as the sun starts its rest

But the heat lingers and makes us depressed

      I yearn for the Autumn, or is it the Fall

For long cool evenings and grass that is tall

      For the dew on the leaves and smells like spice

And the colourful hues that look ever so nice

I want the greens and the reds to colour my day

      And long days of rain to wash the dust away

For the soil to dampen and fill every crack

      But most of all, I want my garden back