The Farmer

I pray for rain


I weep in pain

I moan and groan

But all in vain



For my yard is over grown

And the farm is all brown

Remnant of the last season

I’m yet to cut down



Easy to pray

Cheap to weep

But my part will I play?

For surely the rain will come

But what would it bless?

When all I do is weep and moan and groan