Skies ain’t blue, Showers are few
But lovely it is, Seems like bliss!
Winds blowing, Leaves dancing
Soil drenching, Spring cleaning!
For distant lands, across the sands;
They seem to move, to scripted maps.
As I watch, the clouds floating,
I sit here pensively, contemplating.
Leave behind a little moisture,
In this enormous, Arabian air.
Arid and dry it’s bound to turn
And rays irked, are sure to burn.
As the winter draws to a close
Winds kicking a clamour, as it blows.
The gentle and the torrid breeze,
Bidding adieu, to the mournful trees.