A drenching, soaking rain is
To fill these waterways again,
A monsoon would almost be to little,
To quench the thirst of this dry land.
The air is very still and hot,
The grass is brown and dying,
We need more rain then I had thought,
To heal the withered earth again.
The trees are hiding from the sun,
The clouds are floating in the sky,
But no single drop of moisture may be won,
From the white fleecy clouds that float so high.
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