Bleak horizons circumvade, desolation everywhere abides, but for the breezes gentle stir, all is quiet where death resides, Parched earth, sun scorched and stretched taut like long dead skin, laments the heavens bitter denial and Helios' brutal destine, Grass in patches, here and there, clinging, desperately, still, barely alive, and remaining so, only through force of will, Once proud trees, tall and majestic, now maligned by drought, supplicate the sky to shelter the oppresive sun without, Reaching branches beseech cumuli to shed celestial tears, arms outstretched, pleading the heavens to rain and allay our fears, Blistered and beaten, the forsaken landscape was beset by sorrow, and living in the shadow of the unlikely hope, "perhaps rain tomorrow," Suddenly, when, from naught, clouds appeared, slate gray and forlorn, the pervasive dread of yesterday disappeared behind the new morn, Bolts of lightening and booming thunder awakened the world once more, to the forgotten fervor of Mother Gaia, determined to settle the score, Softly at first, did the rains come to tempt the insatiable thirst, of the starved and miserable wasteland, that seemed, for so long, cursed, The stormy days that followed, swelled the earth in prideful lush, giving the land a rosy hue, like the health in a sweet lass' blush, But then appeared, after countless days of endless liquid relief, a different deadly threat to the land, an entirely new grief, Macerated, saturated, the swollen ground could bear no more, and the waters began rising rapidly from the neverending pour, The once majestic savannah gave in to the violent storm, laying prostrate in deference to nature's new horrible form, The flooding water's churned in anger, sweeping away all in their path, and except for the strong and sturdy trees, nothing would've escaped the wrath, After several days of enraged destruction, the sky finally turned, again, bright, and soon, thereafter, the waters receded, returning everything back to right, Amidst the afetermath of the storm, on the farms and in the towns, an appeal went out for all the healers, as sickness started making the rounds, The standing water, pooled here and there, brought the many carriers of disease, ravaging the land as surely as the flood and ignoring the innocents pleas, Chaos and panic overtook the people succumbing to the hateful tithe, as the terror stricken mass fell prey to the grim reaper's scythe, The young and old gathered together reciting prayers under their breath, begging for mercy from the cruel gods, and an end to all the death, The sickness and disease abruptly ended, being apparently sated, and life attempted a return to normal, like before the plgue invaded, People began taking a count of the many souls pestilence had won, and lowered their heads in silent defeat, appalled by what nature had done, Who's to say what is to live or to die, only time and fate will tell, after humanity has outlived it's usefulness, the world'll still run quite well, So, perhaps, there's a lesson written here, one we can all easily glean, we should stop destroying Mother Earth before she wipes the slate clean, Storms, or, maybe, drought, it can all mean the end of days, or, perhaps, a devestating disease, she can kill in a myriad of ways, We should love our Mother Earth, and respect the unavoidable fact, that if we destroy our only home, it will be our last stupid act. <Kinda' corny, I know, but I liked it nonetheless; I doubt anyone else will, however. Oh well, fuck-it.>