For Better ...

The land had fish-like scales,
A fish of the market -
Dry, dusty, that never inhales.
A tree, like that maiden nigh
Disrobed of vanity, vitality,
Her arms, open to heavens high.
Winds whooshed her wail,
But for the chance dekko
Of a passing ball of hail.
It held in it a little water,
That could animate her,
If only in a brief laughter.
Before it could take a jump,
Was the sun just bright,
To shower, not pelt a lump
That would thrust through her
When poof could go the drop,
The last of her lasting vigour?
Having tried to feel the heat,
Finding the water insular,
In fear, the hail did retreat.
Stilled in thought and action,
It prayed for a bidding,
A jiffy of divine traction.
If, in this while, the hail fleet
Moved, she, for better,
Had better await the sleet.