A amateur poem of mine

High Rivage

A small little river cries

While earth drops forcing water

To make another river

To breathe dust, as it’s lungs are missing

In vain, all the prayers

Trees would just stare

Or maybe these huge clouds

Did not bother to hand a single raindrop

Where to find God now

A whisper of the idle wind

River is too fed up to answer

Too salty to see what is invisible