The skies above bleed drops of salvation,
A small, running trickle was all that turned,
The baked, withered earth, of healing it yearned,
Back to life, as if by its volition,
It could summon forth summer's carnations.
The blessings of paradise it had earned,
Yet, the earth, shifts, roils and turns, as if spurned,
For below lurks the lure of perdition.
For the heavens have promises unkept,
The earth below has love unrequited,
The nourishing rain scours the sodden land,
Such that good and bad alike will be swept,
By bursting streams to places benighted,
The subtle work of a fallen god's hand.