Water Spillage Over The Village

I possess an entire village
Which you can see but it can’t be seen
It can’t be touched but you can touch it.
Eh… do you know what I mean?

The village has roads
Which people can walk on, but you can’t.
The village has a dumpster
Which you can tour (But you rather shan’t).

The roofs of houses there
Are made of solid gold!
Which, for the villagers, symbolises
Prosperity, or so is told.

Scorching hot is the sun
In the village, mine
Which, until now
Was pretty much fine.

But look! All the villagers
Are sweating! And in vain
Are praying for the clouds
To send down the rain.

Well, I shall see you later.
I must pick my pen, and
Casting strokes across the page
Send forth rain to their land.

 

Look here, look there, everywhere you can
Look at pictures hung of kings and queens
Look in your books, at your paintbrushes
To take to heart what this poem means.

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