Sunning Hills Poem by Peter Gumbo

When I went up the hill,
The hill was pitch green,
So my face lit up with a grin,
Because I was amazed by the feel,
Only to realize there was no longer a hill.
Is this real?

There is no one to till the hill,
All have succumbed to the heat,
The heat from the sun that has made there skin peel,
So that it no longer has appeal,
Is this real?

A harsh voice from the sky,
Has filled the hill with a void,
A void that many try to avoid,
For the voice brings nothing but pain,
And the grass on the hill dries up without rain.

The streams have even run dry,
Why?
Because the sun’s furry,
Has fallen on them
And now all that remains,
Is a dreadful blackness,
A harsh darkness that covers the hill.
Is this real?