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The Campaign
Carrying laden bags Of moisture It slowly trudges Dragging its weight Needing to offload its burden
Gradually spreads itself out Like a grey gloomy doom Blocks the seething sun Vying for recognition Wanting to live up to its name
Thirsty eyes in hutments Keep looking heavenwards Closed rooms resound with talk Notoriety becomes its fate As each wonders and curses its lethargy
Slowly it opens the mouth Of its enormous load And lets drizzle slowly in relief But only a tiny trickle Pitter-patter falling on parched leaves
For its masters destine otherwise And summon it to another campaign To now drown in deluge Those hapless, un-defending With no place to go to, But an overflowing ground…
~Glowing Embers~ 28th July 2004
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