The clouds raced in the pathless sky
The wind blew shattering them why?
The farmer in the field was its spy
Waiting for it to condense, not to fly

With hope waiting for the rain
With great strain and with pain
Shall his barn now go in vain?
Won’t the Lord grant him to gain?

What if not the rain fails to shower?
The huge debt shall he now recover?
Creditors visit him daily to remember
In despair is suicide for him an answer?