Standing isolated in grey toned desert,
With arms upraised, supplicant to heaven,
Cold mountain born winds and heat unpleasant,
the long and dry waiting, yet still unhurt,
enduring hardship until the life-rain,
Falling, cleansing, life coming from the north,
wiping clean the bare bones of the dry earth,
The seeming dead coming to life again.
Such the wonder of our rain sending God,
on barren ones, alone, with empty arms,
he rains least looked for overabundance,
Looking at the grace heavy sky, all awed
At loving, life bringing, renewing storms
stripping off the dirt with power wondrous.
Analogica Entis 