“When I’m through here,” he laughed, “I’m going home I’m going to sit and listen to the rain My hayfield’s all burnt up, my yard is dead So I’m gonna to let the rain sing me to sleep”
We said our good-byes to the driest summer ever And a thank you, Jesus for sweet rain at last Next to the paper sacks of deer-bait corn And a display of made-in-China tools
The wind blew open the heavy double doors And the rain blew with it, and we were glad