The Monsoon

It was ten-past-five, on the mid of July,
Gazing through the window, at the Gray sky.

Lakes and ponds have all dried up,
To quench our thirst let the skies break up!

Yonder, we all waited and watched,
For, many a crop lands lay parched.

A gentle breeze blows, across
The swaying blades of sullen grass.

Soon, there ‘ll be a drizzle outside,
Round the corner, the Monsoon reside.

Under some shade, take cover,
For, above, the rain-laden clouds hover.

A streak of lightning flashes over
And thunder roars with mighty power.

As, Pearls of water come scurrying down,
Relief and Joy fills the town….!!