The day dawned still and sure As the first day might have Dawned. No wind whispered Across the white dust. This Was a day like any other. But She knew it was not. The woman had slept fitfully Through the hot night. Her Slumber the shallow sad Unrest of one tormented by Life, the unquiet of one Who dreads the dawn, The black and dire prospect Of another day, another week, Another year another moment, Without rain. The terror, the monotony, The pitiful lonely unremitting struggle In a parched and dying world. Outside her open window the moon Grew fat and lovely.