Your Own Spell

I see you’re soaking up praise while we’re gasping for rain.
Run indoors now, lest you shoulder the blame.
Save your water, kill the roses.
Save your precious water, kill the roses.
Summer drought, it’s all your own spell.
Don’t waste your water, kill the roses.
Arriving late in church, your dress is soaked.
Don’t you look miserable.
Pinned to the dress — oh, look — a dry white rose.
You should be proud.
Summer drought, it’s all your own spell.