Priceless treasure from the sky,
Granting life when death was nigh,
Refreshing and enabling both
Imposing trees and undergrowth.

Gentle streams are fed and grow
Their joyful shimmering glassy flow.
Dusty fields turn rich dark brown
Around the peaceful market town.

Farmers grin and celebrate
And now are free to contemplate
What will grow on their good lands
And what they’ll glean with calloused hands.

Washing out upon the line
Is rinsed for free a second time.
Husbands look up from the bar,
“Now I don’t need to wash the car.”

Puddles bring young children joy
Greater than a brand new toy
Their mothers might not be impressed
At the state of their Sunday best.

Lawns awake and gardens bloom,
Woven on a verdant loom.
Vegetables and herbs en masse
Thrive beside the cultured grass.

Deserts turn to fertile plains,
Ripe with gently wafting grains,
Gulleys turn to raging floods,
Swirling dusts to viscous muds.

Barren cliffs to fragrant falls,
Silence to thronged wildlife calls.
All this and more the rains do bring,
Hence we now their praises sing.