I sat there and observed the rain
And saw where it left a stain
Upon the earth on which I dwell,
And the land on which it fell.
But now in such a place,
Where never has fallen upon the face
Of the ground a drop of rain.
And never has grown the golden grain.
It is so dry in my little corner
That I so much miss being a farmer
Looking forward to the water from above
Replenishing the ground with tender love.
It gives the ground something to drink.
And though sometimes it throws a kink
Into the plans that I have that day
It does something wonderful in such a great way.
