The strangled air has thickened
Rising up in pulsing streams
Swirling stifling, arid winds
Smother all in silent screams
Man-made cooling breathes within
Allowing dwellers slight reprieve
Thoughts of frosted rooves of tin
Melt away like skulking thieves
Grass once softly green and whole
Shrivelled up to bed of straw
Harshly dry beneath our soles
In show of brittle, inner core
Rolling hills in wheaten beige
Uncoiled, undulating browns
Hiss beneath the steaming rage
Of solar blades stabbing down
Flaming forests, ashen art
Frame the land in reddened fire
Nature's scorching soul and heart
Displayed in works of burning ire
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