Autumn s come

and the leaves are lookin brown and dry.

Sun swings low,

a fruit resists the thirsty ground.

Uselessly,

I try to coax a cloud or two.

Searchin the skies,

knowin there ain t nothing left to do.



Summer s turned to gold,

my garden s tired and old,

the dust swirls round my bowl -

and still, no sign of rain.



Faithfully,

I ve tended to my patch of land.

Year by year,

I ve scratched to keep my humble clan.

Now and then

some thunderheads come out of the blue.

Trouble is,

they ve always been too far and few.



Summer s turned to fall,

the air is thick and cold,

I feel it in my bones -

but still, no sign of rain.





Silence shades my lonely claim -

though all is gold,

there is no rain.

Still, I hear my singin bones



And I believe

rain will fall.


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