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A Farmer's Rainy Rhyme
In Andalusia, where the sun blazes bright,
Lives a farmer, with hopes taking flight.
He danced with delight when the first raindrops fell from the sky,
But alas! Just a tease-like a half-finished pie.
The clouds rolled in heavy, all dark and so grand,
But they left just a sprinkle-oh, what a cruel hand!
A few puddles glimmered like diamonds on a flirt,
While the thirsty ground gulped them down-oh, what a dirt!
“Come on!” he exclaimed, with a frown and a pout,
“I need more than puddles; we need to end this drought!”
His ponds were mere whispers of water once bold,
Just orange clay bottoms-how terrible the unfold!
The creeks were still silent, not a gurgle or flow,
While he stood waiting for the rain to bestow.
He watched as the sun turned his crops into chips,
And dreamed of sweet showers that would fill up all dips.
“Oh merciful one above, can’t you hear my plea?
I’m begging for moisture to come dance down on me!
I’ll sing many sweet songs and I’ll prepare a feast,
Just shower my fields-let the droplets fall on this beast!”
But the skies just chuckled and rolled on their way,
Leaving him to ponder how long he must stay.
With each passing hour, he asks: dear lord, if you may,
I'm stuck in this dry spell-help me out of this cruel fray!
So he planted some hopes in the ground with great care,
Hoping for rain clouds to come join like a galloping mare.
With a wink and a grin, he declared with great cheer:
“If it doesn’t rain soon, I’ll just grow cacti here!”
So here’s to the farmers who wait for the skies,
With dreams of sweet showers and clouds that arise.
May their patience be golden and their laughter be loud,
For when rain finally comes, they’ll dance for the crowd!