In the corner sits my daughter,Her skin dry and lips chapped<br>She begs those who walk by for water<br>The people walk by, their responses are apt<br>No says one woman, we need some for us<br>Although my daughter cries, and clamors and calls<br>Not a single drop of water, into her pitcher falls<br><br><br> My son is at war, but he isn’t fighting for others<br>He’s at war with his body, his own blood and flesh<br>He screams in his sleep, calling for his brothers<br>He wants to show them the water he sees, falling so fresh.<br> Dreams are the only places we can get water<br>He kicks and rolls, aching to get there first,<br>But none of the water in his dreams can slake his thirst.<br><br><br> My wife she tries to make dinner<br>No soup, no broth, no brine<br>She tries to feed us, though she keeps getting thinner. <br>She thinks water is like a diamond, with its irresistible shine.<br>She’s wrong though, water is more precious<br> Water is a rare gem, it sparkles and shines<br>In a lagoon with flowers, that hang low on vines.<br><br><br> Outside in the heat my brother does strive <br>To push muddy water from the pump<br>And in his mind the water comes alive<br>It is a beautiful woman, gorgeous and plump<br>He too has been taken by the water’s sweet temptation<br>His skin is like paper, it is drying out<br>As we continue to try to live in this drought <br> As for me, I walk the long road<br>With a pot upon my head<br>Even as a small child I strode <br>Along this dried river bed <br>But back then there was water<br>Oh! How it glowed.<br>But as the world grew hotter<br>Farewell, the water bode. <br>
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