Scorched is the face of earth
And thirsty is the soil beneath
Waiting for the cycle of rebirth
Are those unsown seeds.
For the Efforts of the worms that lurk
Helps the nature’s womb to breath,
To till the land that’s hard
And reach the seeds that it sheaths,
For those seeds they encase life,
Filled with The Creator’s joyful bliss.
To see bark with a girth that will strive,
And branches with leaves waving with breeze
So when it’s the darkest hour of the day,
blowing heavy winds with a chill inside.
Dark clouds gather in an array,
With thundering lightening strikes.
With all eyes gazing the dark skies.
To bear witness to the awaited arrival,
To answer all those tired sighs,
Rains down the tiny droplets of survival.
