Die droogte het gekom
Geen reën vir die boom of blom
Die droogte het sy merk gelaat
Op sy blare en saad
Stadig gaan die boom dood
Daar is geen nuwe loot
Sy blare verkleur en val
Sy sap verander in gal
Hy smag na ‘n druppel water
Miskien kom dit wel later
Elke wolkie daar ver gee hoop
Dit sal smaak soos stroop
Maar later het nie gekom
Geen druppel water vir hom
Sy binneste het kout geword
Totdat hy later ineenstort
L.C.J. Engelbrecht
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