Somewhere in the distance there is the promise of some rain,

Gray clouds are building and moving fast as I watch from my country lane.

Anticipation is heightened down deep, far into my soul, it abounds;

I hope it plows straight overhead and doesn’t split and go around.

 

Gentle breezes soon arrive,  then their strength they gain,

Waiting far below are thirsty, golden fields of grain.

Their bodies dried and cracked waiting for the dark heavens to cry.

Then comes the jagged, purple lightning against the crooked sky.

 

Accompanied by raucous thunder that rocks the depths below,

Now comes the wicked storm as hoped for, let it blow.

As now I sit inside looking out at streaks of rain,

What a beautiful sight racing down my window pane.