Outside jagged drops of ice
expolde down from the sky
and pound down upon, violently
the hard, dry cracked ground

A collective sigh emits
from the entire neighborhood
for the blades of grass, defenseless
are being, frozen, bent, even broken

these same people prayed for moisture
so desperately needed by the
parched, soil on the brink of being barren
afforded by these destructive drops

Still they shun all parts, based on form
and the falling pieces of grass
thinking nothing of the roots
eternally to be helped by the blades pain

Yes I too sigh, not rejoice
as I pull on a coat and wish
that the clouds had opened instead
when it was 85, just a week ago

and I cry as I pick
up a solitary piece of grass, dead
it alone had worth and so
I whole-heartedly mourn its death

I would that my tears
could replace this harsh form of water
that pounds those, it wishes to help
but it is not to be, only present form is sufficent

And so, though we shall not smile
the suffering at hand must be endured
for from the tragic falls will
inumberable more be spared to come

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