Rain drops falling from on high,
the sweat of divinity rolling down,
rivers of heroism flowing
to the need of the gardens below
from half way heaven skies
below the purest mount
where the seeds of divine creation
take root and blossom,
and above the man made bricks
laid down by soiled hands,
the fruits of man’s creation,
the second hand passing
of the torch of life,
the illumination of the soul,
the falling rain, the act of mercy,
the mother of the seedlings,
the heroine of the suppliant,
the Goddess of the planet,
the cream for the skin of the earth,
the ice for the burning man,
the balm for the sick,
the sight for the blind,
the inspirer of the poet,
the ocean of the seafarer,
the home of the fishes,
the handiwork of God,
such pure rain,
divinity’s memento
from heaven to half heaven,
to the sky to the wind,
to the mountain lakes,
to the drumming
on the tin roofs,
to the gardens,
to the life beneath the soil,
the giver of life,
the evidence of the purest,
the half heaven on earth.

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