The Wait
The Wait The month of March: Holding lovely spring's hand, Creeps ever closer— The unbearable warmth. You can't wait, For the coming season to pass by. The thought of the dreadful heat, Makes you sweat anxiously. The month of April: Warm, humid, Punctuated with tired faces, And garishly bright sunlight. You wait for a cool breeze, You pitiable fool! The wind of the season, Comes from the burning stars. The month of May: The ball of fire, Burns ablaze, It wants to set everything on fire. You wait for a storm, To engulf the fire. Behold! Momentary relief! At the cost of a hundred lives. The month of June: Spent away, Watching the sky, For a hint of gray. Instead there's only, Blue : bright and unforgiving. The beautiful colour becomes, Fuel for nightmares. The season of waiting, Waiting and wishing: Desperate wish to survive, This seemingly unending wait. The four months, Here, in this tropical country, B