Dear Lord above, please hear me out.
My dirt's gone dry thanks to this drought,
and now next week they called a high
- a hundred plus degrees. I try
my best, carrying water and such,
but then that sun - it's just too much.
These crops, they're thirsty for some rain,
and, Lord, I don't mean to be a pain,
but if you spare a storm or three,
I'm in your debt. And you know me:
I keep this farm to feed this town.
I've got no castles, wear no crown.
My riches come from giving food,
and all I mean to do is good.
I'm grateful, Lord, you hear me out,
and pray you help these seeds to sprout.
Amen.