Sun parched earth and grass so dry,
Storm clouds forming in the distant sky.
They carry the rain for which we pray,
We hope the clouds won't drift away,
Thunder crashed in the dark of night,
Lighting flashes are a beautiful sight.
The rain starts falling soft and light,
Till the storm builds to its full might.
The farmers hope there won't be hail,
Not at this time with the crops still frail.
As the morning sun kisses the sky,
People rise and gently sigh.
As they look out at this land so fine,
They hope that today the sun will shine.
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© Sandy Botha 2003
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