The grass has never been green,
It shows a nice scene.
Blows a dusty breeze,
That makes you sneezes.
A bright sun,
Means to have some fun.
It shines bright,
To make the country full of light.
Flowers blossom everywhere,
Grow without a care.
How rare,
It just wants to make you stare,
The weather is usually strange,
It's always on the change.
It could be warm,
But it might end up as a storm.
By Lucinda Melrose
Created: 2014
Edited and Published: 2019