Why does the rain not come when my fields have both run dry
No rain comes down upon my thirsty sprouts unless I fall to cry
I dance the ancient native prayers to bring storms into my sky
Although the rising Sun shines anew, each night his light must die
If only the fresh morning dew were enough to lift me up that high
But there will be no harvesting my seed now that my youth has said goodbye

04/14/2016

Posted on 04/17/2016
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