Poems (Tynan)/Drought

by Katharine Tynan

For works with similar titles, see Drought.

DROUGHT

The sky is grayer than doves,
Hardly a zephyr moves,
Little voices complain;
The leaves rustle before the rain.

No thrush is singing now,
All is still in the heart o' the bough;
Only the trembling cry
Of young leaves murmuring thirstily.

Only the moan and stir
Of little hands in the boughs I hear,
Beckoning the rain to come
Out of the evening, out of the gloom.

The wind's wings are still;
Nothing stirs but the singing rill
And hearts that complain.
The leaves rustle before the rain.