The kindly rain that paints the valley green
And robes the mountain in verdant array
Arrives there as no stranger, having been
Preserved in stream and root-mass since the day
It last bestowed its blessing on the clay
Now burgeoning with fallen leaf and fruit
Enriched by passage, lively with decay
Arising new through each delicate shoot
But where the sand gives purchase to no root
There all the clouds' sweet blessings fall in vain
The parched arroyo's dust so destitute
It can no longer even hold the rain
Which now can only churn to the clay to mud
And drown cactus and scorpion in flash flood.
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