Bittersweet …

Heavy clouds darken,
The parched earth cracks.
The deep roots whither,
And little boys run,

Hot sand blows, in dry summer air,
The vulture calls with a malicious glare,
Nature cries; to herself, in grief,
And the heavy clouds go drifting by.

A gift it is great,
Losing that which is wanted
A circle, life is
Coming back where it started.

Happiness is a luxury,

Not given to the strong.
Pain is a teacher,
Not a useless thorn.

Pity not the pained,
Envy them, do not!
For, wisdom they get.
But comfort they do not.

The laden cloud doesn’t falter but goes on,
It rains in a sea where it causes a great storm.
The running little boys slowly grow old
Watching the tree, with its leaves falling down.