No Trophy, No Rain

The cheers fell silent with the final whistle, A nation folded away its flags once more. No trophy came home that hopeful evening, Only another headline, another “almost.” Yet beyond the stadium's bright floodlights, A quieter defeat had long begun. Fields once dressed in emerald green Lay brittle beneath a relentless sun. The rivers whispered where they used to sing, Reservoirs shrank beneath anxious skies. Gardens waited with thirsty patience, Watching clouds that would not rise. Brown hills cracked beneath weary footsteps, Hedgerows smouldered, forests sighed, And sparks, once harmless companions of summer, Became flames no wind could hide. Near and far the water was measured, Each precious drop counted with care. We learned that abundance is never promised, And that hope itself needs tending. No trophy. No rain. Only the humbling truth That neither games nor seasons Obey the wishes of our hearts.