Dust Storm Of The South

The sky, a dusty red
The ground, a covered dull
The wind, a blazing torrent
Trees bent in the gale. 
The eyes, they can not see.
The breath, it can't inhale
Better run and hide
And wait the end my dear.
The sky is clear, the sun, still hot
Looks as if it snowed
The soft, pure, new blown silt  
Of the dust storm of the south