From a leaden sky, crisp rain,
So free to quench the thirsty crops
Or destroy the same, coats the pane
While I watch.
Fourteen days my eyes have gazed
Toward the billows; tiny glints
Piercing the drive, wash away
Sheets cut the day and waver
In impulsive gusts; tassels bow
Without breaking; leaves shelter
Pummeling dark soil, hurtled
Drops excavate and erode, small
Rivers digging mud canyons, curled
About the balls.
"She'd best blow over soon," Pops
Mutters. My chin rests on the sill,
Visions of the whole sea of stalks
They'll make it, I hope, They'll stand.
But the storm shows no sign of pause.
Covering my shoulder, Pops' hand
Gives me calm.
"Ain't no storm in all Creation--
No matter how much water falls--
Warm sunshine didn't follow, Son,"
His love drawls.
Together there we wait for light,
And I wonder if Noah's thoughts
From the ark window were like mine,
But even then, his faith proved true,
And land arrived. This storm has raged
For only a tenth of that time,
So we wait.
A squeeze pulls my gaze from the ground;
Brilliance greets my squint, both our hands
Raise to shield our eyes from the glare
Through the glass.
Joy warms me as one inside those rays,
And I smile at Pops' twinkling eyes.
"You were right," I whisper, amazed
At his sight.
Standing tall, the cornstalks gulp sunlight,
And chaotic soil at their roots
Settles, warms, and begins to dry.
Our brows rest.
When my future days find the dark storms
I'll surely sail, I'll remember
The day we clung to faith, our lives'
Work at risk.
And my heart will be strong, though forces
Tear at my foundation, for I have
Seen grace and peace and wonder from
GodŐs great hand.
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