As dark descends on baking fields of green,
As evening’s cool brings on blessed relief,
As storm clouds roll down off the hills between
The sky and me, I’m struck with new belief.
It’s all around me, beauty painted stark,
In browns and greens beneath a hidden moon.
White flashes spitting beauty, as the dark
Night closes in from the west, herald soon
The torrents bringing gift and curse to fields
Awash with nature’s bounty–blessed drink
Or dreaded flood that vitiate the yields
These soldiers need to feed their own. To think,
Out of control, their lot is but to plod,
To look to heaven, pray for help from God.