Thirsty corn stretches dry tassels heavenward, reaching for rain.
Dusty leaves curl inward, folded in fervent prayer.
Sparse clouds cast welcome shadows on the parched land.
Scattered drops of moisture fall mercifully down on baked fields;
Every drip a precious promise, raising harvest hopes.
A wise farmer knows God as a Father who doesn’t tease but often tests.
Creation’s plenty depends entirely on the Creator’s provision.
a poem in my pocket 