Someone promises you love and it never came, the skies promises rain to a drought thirsty earth...but it never came.
A broken promise pains more than to discover it to be a right through lie...

A long procession of gray clouds
over a thirsty desert of dried sands,
like silent and somber monks
from a monastery build in the past,
where only ghost would roam free
in dungeons with screams in the dark.

A long procession of gray clouds
announcing the storm just behind
giving hope to a dried up river
whose waters were taken by the sun,
and to a few seed buried there
waiting to come, once more, alive!

A long procession of gray clouds
trailing the thunder’s voice sound,
telling the roots of the forest trees
here’s coming, the blessed rain
with the coolest of all its drops,
get all the leaves looking at the sky.

A long procession of gray clouds
with thousand lightning’s flash
broken darkness to make a day
from a dreary menacing night,
the anticipation for it is here
lift your face its rain, rain, rain…

Then, the long procession is gone,
wind took all the thunder sounds,
and lightning, and all drops of rain
when it herded away the gray clouds;
anticipation turns in disappointment,
leaving a thirsty desert with dry sands.