Too Late and Far Too Much

It tastes like despair
The air
Like defeat and despair
The charged atmosphere
Alive after the months
Of dead, dry heat

Thunder rolls
Across the parchment plains

Rain is coming
Too late
And far too much

What little soil remains
After wind storms
And dust clouds
Carried the best of it
Off to the East
Will wash away
Rivulets cutting small canyons
Deep into the earth

The Assiniboine
Will run high
High and brown
And it’ll hit Winnipeg
Hard

I almost feel sorry for them
Even apologetic
Because my farm
The land worked by my family
For generations
Will be filling their homes