Though the dust rises
As the rains fall
Rivers flow
The Mountains
Crumble from the sky
As the earth spins
And turns.
Many flee
With nowhere to run.
Still farther weaknesses
Expose themselves
As the days grow monotonous
Never seeing the sun.
The shades of eve
Scatter themselves
Among the brush.
Lesser and fewer days
As life labors
Vehemently through the night.
Yet, yet with hope
Of every tomorrow
It is shadowed by the breaches
By the breaches of death
Cecelia Weir
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/scolded/
