Fair spring brings her green
to both sides of the tracks.
Then, cruel summer gazes stern
and burns the poor side back.
When the rails are too hot to touch,
the price is too high to ride
that train that cuts the country
between the wet and dry.
Some fools will write of water
with dime store fountain pens
and stand with buckets 'neath a blue sky
waiting for the drought to end.
But, me, I'll ink a ticket
and forge myself a way
to get this poor man's daughter
off these tracks and on that train.
For Hannah's prompt at Real Toads