Parched, the thirsty soil cries out,
Longing for relief from drought,
Respite from the heat.
Empty clouds give rise to doubt;
Trees and grass join in the shout.

Clouds now darken into gray;
Trees in breeze begin to sway—
What a happy treat!
Raindrops play a matinee,
Drought of summer to allay.


September 19, 2017 ~ Quinnette
© 2017 Abigail Gronway – All Rights Reserved

Thou, O God, didst send a plentiful rain, whereby Thou didst confirm Thine inheritance, when it was weary. —Psalm 68:9


2 Replies to “Quenched”

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