The rippling scorn of the vermillion dragon
Snarls and growls at the distant horizon;
His malicious laugh hot and dry
Surges across the tumbling plain
And barrels into the withered woman.
The woman sat hunched below a parched tree
Through cracked lips, haggard, wheezy breaths escape.
Her dirty cheeks streaked with vaporised tears
All alone she slumps in the swirling dust
The dust, hopeless; and as nondescript as she,
Sweeps away all that is left of her frail existence
As the dragon’s scorn fell under cloudy skies.