Water drips and dances through years of drought and rain.
Neighbors argue over wells
that threaten to run dry. Still, harvest comes each year,
grain-laden fields compete
with oil-rigged earth, dark beaks that dip and plunge
into other shrinking pools,
the vast land scrubbed by dust, wiped clean with light
borrowed from a blazing sun,
buttered with an effervescent taste of yellow,
incense of sunflowered soil.
– Maril Crabtree
The Coop: A Poetry Cooperative 
The loving concern for our planet is thoughtfully displayed here1