The Sky's Labour

She looks full, stuffed.
The sky.
A nine months pregnant woman.
Awaiting with bated breath,
The moment of delivery.
The out pour.
Thunders grumble and lightnings flash,
Pre-labour pains.
Are these false alarms?
Or is this it?
The damsel wrings her hands in tension.

Everyone looks towards
The labour room.
The sky.
Listening for
The first cry of life.
The first drop.
The instant when the water will break
And new life will pour out.
Fulfilling the promise
Of continuance.
New saplings breaking out.
Fresh scent of a newborn,
Wet earth.

The wait is on,
For dryness to end
For the parched earth
To become slush.
But  downpour remains,
Elusive.