What a strange phenomenon is rain.
It falls on hill and wood and plain.
But either flood, or not enough.
It�s very temperamental stuff.
For months I�ve listened to its drip.
It oozes from the sky
to slip down every drain to swell the streams.
And yet - another country dreams
of even one drop. Many years
have passed.
The people�s anguished tears
the only moisture ever seen
in that parched land where nothing green
can grow beneath the baking sun.
How they long for even one
good spell of rain
to start the grain
to life, and end their hopeless, heavy pain.
How I wish that I could end the thrall
of climate�s whim - for one and all.
I�d even out the weather flow
so that, for a while, the rain would go
and fall on someone else who needed it to water ground
which, when seeded, would grow its crops so strong and thick and high.
Then, for a bit, the rain would pass us by
so we could tend our sodden fields
and know the rain would not spoil yields
of crops left rotting where they lie
under a grey and weeping sky.
Much money goes to those whose lofty brains
add burdens to this poor world�s pains.
We need no more destruction, that is vain.
The power will go to who controls the rain.
