he wood was gone. What stayed there still
was a yellow, shaved-off, bald-head hill.
The sun came out like fiery flames.
that burned up Gramps’ little dried-out fields.
The rain fell slick-slack-slick-slack-slick,
it flowed over furrows and rows and dikes.
The fields are ruined, the land cracks and creaks.
The water flows down Granny’s cheeks.