The sun, both a friend and a foe,
has drained away life from the land.
Its heated the winds that now blow
parching the earth into sand.
The elders, in one voice, have spoken.
Together we’ll beseech the rain
in song, both aloud and unspoken,
to visit our land once again.
The turquoise shines bright as we dance
to honor the rain that we need.
We call to the spirits, from our trance,
as equals; there’s no need to plead.
The dance is done and so, we wait.
We watch the sky, no longer clear.
The rain will come and so our fate
is found within the heaven’s tears.
The spirits of nature are friends;
they’re part of the oneness of all,
a link to life that never ends.
We listen as their wisdom calls.
An entry for "N.A. First Peoples' Form Poetry Contest"
Prompt: Image
Required Form: Traditional (Rhymed) Poetry ~ Quatrains with an abab rhyme
Line Limits: Min 12/Max 32
Line Count: 20
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