The dying grass crunches beneath bare feet
that walk a path each passing rainless week
back and forth to the yellow sprinkler hose,
in hopes at least a bit survives this drought.
Trees and shrubs blanched white begin to wilt,
a frown it seems as if they've given up
craving autumn's shades of orange and red;
blind hunger lost in sun's unending heat.
Poetry inspiration: Poets United Thursday Think Tank (hunger)