Drought-seared landscapes, barren prospects,
hang like Dali scenes;
drought-seared hope yearns to break
the bondage of this dream.
Yet hope persists, gathers strength,
and swells to prayer ascending
where, buoyed by unsinking faith,
meets angel thoughts descending.
In dewless dawn, a woman in prayer
to the Fount of Living Waters
finds sweet communion, affirming good
from an ever-present Father.
If God is All and creates only good,
she reasons with deep conviction,
then sterile wastelands of earth and heart
are baseless contradictions!
Love divine, moving upon the waters,
breathes life to arid air.
And drought—adamant, unrelenting—
is broken by humble prayer.
Mankind now awakes to blessings at hand—
the joy of unfolding creation—
refreshed by showers, greening the leaves
of the tree for the healing of nations.
