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The children want to play outside,
but the heat saps their stamina.
The old folks stay indoors
while their budget blows out cold air.
I tend to my stifling labor
t-shirt and shorts attired;
ninety degrees for a week,
autumn seems far away.
I toil under the simmering sun,
perspiration spills down my back.
My skin burns all over
as if set ablaze.
My mouth feels parched
from Sahara’s scolding grains
as I fall on my knees
and pray for relief.
Holy Father,
I cry for your loving aid.
I miss the green complexion
the lawn had in spring;
now auburn is the tint
of what grass remains.
My garden grows only
from the water I provide,
even then, the harvest struggles.
Bless the ground with life-giving rain.
I ask for the water we thirst,
so our lives may be sustained.
Hear my prayer, Oh Lord,
as I ask in Jesus’ name.
Amen.
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