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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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