An Ode to the Rain
(The rain made her bloom!)
Oh, gentle Rain, from the heavens sent,
Thy liquid fingers through the firmament,
Thou art the herald of life's sweet refrain,
A symphony upon the parched plain.
The Earth, she craved thy touch for many moons,
Her cracks and crevices like ancient runes,
Now sing with verdure, as thy blessings pour,
And barren fields are barren now no more.
For thou, O Rain, art God's kindest gift,
Thy droplets fall, and weary spirits lift.
The farmer's eyes, with gratitude alight,
Behold the miracle of water's might.
The rivers, once but dusty trails of sorrow,
Now dance and gurgle, thoughts of rain they borrow.
The crops, they rise, a green and golden sea,
A testament to what thy grace can be.
The children laugh and in the puddles play,
Their joyous echoes chase the heat away.
The world, reborn, with every drop that falls,
In every heart, thy rhythmic cadence calls.
So let us raise our voices, high and clear,
To honor Rain, whom all life holds so dear.
For in thy cycle, we find hope's true seed,
And in thy dance, the end of drought's dark deed.