All summer long the land was parched and dry.

The leaves were brittle, and we craved the rain.

Our grass was yellow, cracked and baked,

But the clouds were barren, the land still ached.

 

The drizzle began as it approached eleven,

Larger drops fell as the due hour called,

Ere glorious torrents descended from heaven,

Splashing down in life-restoring vigour.

Like the tears we shed, grateful, not distressing.

When we ever had need, your heart  supplied.

The rain which fell, was your final blessing.