Stretching between the sheet of blue,

Clouds spotted the bright blue sky,

The river glided, twisted and flew,

The birds, too hot in the sun to fly,

As the wind spun tufts of bright red dust,

The need for water became a must.

Capturing those under it's gaze,

The sun burned with such a rage,

That those who lay on the land of red,

Were nothing more than those of dead.

The dry grass wrapped them in wind,

Leaving many young ones orphaned.

Branching out between the land,

Inviting all to come and drink,

The fingers of water spread like a hand,

Not one stopped to even think,

Of the ones who passed at that point,

Suppressed by a mind of faint.