The dew, a drizzle, drenching rain …
When water falls upon the ground
the barren earth is slowly changed
by echoes of the dripping sound.
A cloud far off collects, descends
and rinses air of dust and dry
as God directs the whirling winds
and hears the holy farmer’s cry:
to gather as a roaring flood,
the fuel for some fragrant thyme,
transformed as trees and creatures’ blood.
Its constant motion measures time
erodes hills, deepens valleys, fills
the rainbow, quiets games, then sparks
the lightning-thunder dance; distills
the oceans and leaves dried drops as marks.